Heart of Stone
by The Magpie Igraine
Summary: Set after "Shattered Sight"-A dark spell brings about a change in Storybrooke. Killian disappears and a new Dark One emerges.
1. Chapter 1: Hell's Belles

Chapter 1: Hell's Belles

This chapter begins during _Heroes and Villains_. Ingrid is dead and Rumple still has Hook's heart. The town is piecing itself back together when Belle is found wandering through the streets. As her memories return, she begins to remember what she witnessed at the town line.

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In the fading grays and reds of the evening light, the moon quietly rose over Storybrooke, creeping along the coast as if harboring a secret. The distant clouds drifted in with the tide, forming lacey patterns the color of quicksand against the horizon.

Between the vanishing sunlight and the gathering moonlight, a girl hobbled into town. Her pale arms were held out in front of her in a helpless gesture, displaying the blood stains covering her dress and hands. Her red hair fell around her shoulders—a violent, vibrant color that matched the eerily brilliant sunset.

Nothing about the air felt natural or fresh. A sharp wind shook the trees as shadows pooled in the ditches alongside the road. Mist hovered overhead. The sharp taste of frost stung the air. Black clouds gathered in the distance, bringing low rumbling sounds and the promise of gales. Miles away, Storybrooke's town line registered the shift in the atmosphere. Always a strange boundary, it was given to fluctuations in the time-space continuum. Those who stood near it could feel the ground shifting under their feet, as if the road itself were a black river snaking through the hillsides in a twisted current.

Usually the road to the town line was as empty as the clock tower**, **but here was a girl slowly heading into the heart of downtown. Her bare feet dragged along the pavement, stained with blood and sweat. She stared ahead, accompanied only by the sounds of labored breathing and padded footsteps caked with country muck.

Over a slight hill, the town square came into view. Debris from the Snow Queen's curse was being cleared, and the streets bustled with cheerful activity.

"Belle?" A waitress with long dark hair and a red apron spotted her at a distance and ran to her side. "Belle, what happened?"

Belle stared through her and silently limped on. The sight of friendly pastel buildings and cheery shop windows should have been a comfort to her. Today she noticed none of it. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, a silent scream hung from her lips as she surveyed the street. Some passers-by stopped and stared, horrified and helpless.

"Belle…Belle…Jesus, somebody help! Get help!" She heard shouts behind her, felt the ebb and flow of people swarming. Their voices mingled and died away as she continued on her way.

"Belle, stop, wait…you're hurt." A single voice emerged from the mass. Someone tugged at her elbow, and she paused to examine the hand holding her back. A woman's hand. Blonde hair curling around the elbows. A red leather jacket. A jacket the color of dried blood. Belle looked down at her own dress, a beloved blue and white frock she'd lovingly mended and ironed countless times. Now it was the same color as the jacket. Dull. Dark. Stained with something deep and red.

"Belle, what happened to you? You can talk to me." The voice seemed to come from miles away.

"The blood won't come off," Belle whispered, holding her hands out to Emma. "It'll never come off." She fell to her knees, the black road rushing up to greet her. The spinning darkness swallowed her as her body crumpled in the street.

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_Belle's eyes fluttered open, taking in the dimly-lit shop. Vanilla smoke filled the room, brushing against the red wallpaper and oriental rugs. Standing in front of a display table littered with bronze ornaments, Rumple was smoking a cigar…which he only did in secret, usually celebrating a profitable sale or a successful potion._

_From her place on the antique chaise, she could make out the teetering endtable beside her. On it was a crystal decanter filled with amber-colored wine. She wanted to take a sip, sit up, speak to her husband, ask about the havoc the Snow Queen's curse was wreaking on the town. But she couldn't. As much as she wanted to move her limbs, they stayed stubbornly in place, victims of a sleepiness she couldn't shake._

_Taking in the cozy expanse of the cluttered shop, Belle realized they were not alone. Alongside Rumple stood Hook, his face shadowed by the dim lights and the collar of his leather jacket. The two men were taking great puffs on their cigars and sipping brandy from antique tumblers. Rumple had a triumphant smile on his face, Hook a scowl._

_Of the two men, only Rumple seemed to be enjoying himself, taking long breathes on the cigar, releasing the smoke with a great sigh. After savoring a sip of brandy and smirking, the process started over again. Inhale. Release. Drink. Repeat. The scene was one of silence, peace, and repetition. Hook followed suit, but something in the grimace on his face and the stiffness in his stance told Belle he wasn't a willing participant. It was if he were miming Rumple, following his movements only to placate his host._

"_We're almost done Dearie," her husband said quietly, his words cutting through the smoke hanging in the air. "Hard part's over. And what an ending." He grinned. "Who knew the Snow Queen was suicidal? If I'd hatched a plan for thirty years, I'd sure as shit want to see it through. Makes me feel positively disgusted about the state of villainy in this town. Seems every villain who blows through makes a perfect ass of themselves before failing miserably."_

"_Perhaps she'd realized she'd wasted her life as a villain. Maybe she wanted to die a hero," Hook answered, his voice strained and stilted._

_"Did she die a hero? I'm not so sure…Killing yourself just to clean up your own mess doesn't amount to heroics in my book. Then again, killing yourself period doesn't amount to anything in my book. Because you're dead. Who cares how it happened. You lose. Game over. Make way for the next set of players."_

"_It wasn't a game Crocodile. People could have died."_

"_Oh…it was game all right. And lovely Ingrid with her sad eyes and beauty-pageant cleavage certainly lost. Set. Match point. Now clear the table and reset the board. Round two is ready to begin."_

"_What's to come next?" Hook asked quietly._

_Rumple grinned. "My game." He clinked his glass against Hook's. Belle saw that Hook's knuckles were white and shaking. It was a wonder the glass didn't shatter in his hand. "I was given a gift by the lovely Ingrid before she self-imploded—a way out. A chance to leave this God-forsaken town and start afresh with my bride." He held up an antique scroll, tied with a red ribbon and glittering with flecks of gold embedded in the paper. "This little beauty holds the key to my freedom. And to think it's been in the hands of an Arendellian snow witch the whole time…" he chuckled. "It's always the last place you look."_

"_And she just handed it over, wrapped in a little red bow. My, my, my…That was neighborly of her."_

_Rumple eyed the scroll in his hand. "Yes it was. Seeing as how she was suicidal and bat-shit crazy, it all makes sense in retrospect. And you forget my substantial charm. Obviously the girl couldn't resist me. I'm sure my sex appeal played a major part in her melodramatic combustion."_

"_Aye…you always had a way with the ladies. Usually the homicidal ones."_

"_Now there's the pot calling the kettle black," Rumple cackled happily "…and really all this couldn't have come at a better time. Tomorrow my plans will see their fruition. I'll control the Sorcerer's hat, the scroll's spell will be cast, and I'll have everything I want in life. Finally, a villain gets his happy ending."_

_Their voices began to fade away as sleepiness stalked over Belle through a cloud of vanilla scented smoke—its soft padded feet a welcoming sensation. Her heavy eyelids slowly closed and she fell into a dream full of warmth and contentment with a million-and-a-half sensations that made her forget the strange scene she'd just witnessed._

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Belle opened her eyes, blinking at the bright glare surrounding her. She tried to lift her arms to block out the harsh florescent lights, only to find her hands had been fastened to her side. Two IVs dripped fluid into the bandages taped to her wrists. She sensed something dull and painful pressing underneath her skin and some silent voice told her they were the hidden ends of needles.

She felt calm and clean. Her russet hair tumbled down her shoulders, freshly washed and combed. A dull pain throbbed in the back of her head but a high dose of painkillers kept the ache at bay. She looked down at her clothes. Her blue and white dress was gone. She was wrapped tightly in a hospital gown and white blankets, smelling of soap and antiseptic and something else—something mechanical and musty. Something she couldn't place.

The fluttering of her eyes brought no relief from the harsh lights, but it brought Emma into the hospital room just as surely as if she'd called to her.

"Belle? Belle can you hear me?" Emma spoke swiftly, as she often did. Emma was like that. Always in a hurry. Always running. Belle doubted that she'd ever seen Emma Swan sit still for more than a minute. Life in a hostile world was apt to create creatures like Emma—sad eyed wanderers who were in continuous state of unrest and harried momentum. David followed her, his expression a combination of grim determination and worry.

"Belle, can you hear me?" Emma repeated.

"Yes. Of course I can hear you," Belle spoke slowly, her voice soft and weak.

"Thank God. Before…when we found you on the street..." Emma trailed off, sharing a look with David. "We didn't know what to think."

Belle stared at them. She didn't understand. Everything seemed so unreal and hazy. The room had an unearthly glow, and the clicks and beeps of the machine nearby filled the room with a soothing rhythm that made her head swim with sleepiness. "Why am I in the hospital?"

"You don't remember? You fainted on the street," Emma replied.

Belle stared at her, disbelief on her face.

David shook his head. "Do you remember anything at all?"

"My dress. It had stains on it…" She felt Emma take her hand, rubbing it affectionately. "I don't think the stains will come out."

"Anything else?" Emma asked.

Belle searched her memory. The painkillers made her feel like she was reaching for something underwater, something misty and shapeless, lost in the gloom. "The shop. I was in the shop. And then…and then I saw Rumple." She paused. "That's all. I was so tired…"

"That's the last thing you remember? Being in the shop with Gold?" David spoke slowly, more deliberately than his daughter.

She nodded weakly, the wound on her head suddenly burning the back of her skull. "Where is…where is Rumple?"

"We don't know. No one's seen him since yesterday." David's eyes met Emma's. They exchanged a glance before he went on. "Do you know where he might be?"

"At the shop," Belle answered quietly, the words came slowly and thickly. "He was smoking a cigar. He's probably there now. I was so thirsty but I couldn't reach the glass. And then I fell asleep. He had a scroll…he said…" She began pulling against her restraints, the IVs in her wrists twisting painfully under her skin. "He said Ingrid gave him a gift… a spell…and something about a game. Now…please let me go. I want to see him."

She twisted against her restraints so violently that Emma and David took her arms, trying to hold her down, trying to keep her still. She saw a flash of white as a nurse rushed to her side with a syringe.

A familiar feeling of warmth washed over her. The sides of her vision grew blurry and dark until she fell away from the world into a dreamless sleep, calling for her husband until the darkness overtook her.

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_Peacefully curled up in the backseat of Rumple's car, Belle stared outside at the passing woodland through heavy-lidded eyes. The view included the shaggy corners of the forest and a sprawling expanse of hillsides and meadows. Birds perching on brambles gave some color to the scenery with glimmers of blue-black feathers.__ The fading streaks of overcast sky drifted along the top of the window's vista, sometimes turning gray against the scattered sunlight, sometimes turning a silvery white or buttery cream. She was too tired to appreciate the contrast. Her bones ached to sleep, she had to fight to keep her eyes open._

_The sun set slowly even as the rain fell faster. Something, a sense buried deep inside her, told her she was headed towards the town line. She felt an internal warning as they passed the shallow hills that marked the edge of the realm. She tried to tell Rumple to stop, but the words wouldn't come. The shadows in the front seat paid no mind to her. They stared ahead, silent and stern._

_Storybrooke's town line hovered nearby as the car slowed to a stop. At this very moment it forged a barrier between magical and non-magical realms—anyone who crossed it would disappear from view and never find their way home. This, of course, was one in a series of powers the town line possessed. Until lately, it had been marked by an impenetrable wall of ice and could rob those who crossed it of their memory. At one point, it saw the town's inhabitants syphoned into a fairytale world and just as mysteriously whisked back again. An emotionally-stunted witch from Oz once used it as a hunting ground for her flying monkeys, and it cost Pan's henchmen a rear bumper as they careened past a protection spell. __No mortal could predict the next guideline governing the invisible barrier, and no warlock cared to. Those who stood near it could feel the ground shifting under their feet, as if the road itself were as unstable and breakable as any curse._

_A quiet sense of urgency whispered to her, even as she headed through the calm countryside. "Journey's end in lovers meeting," she thought with a sigh. Her eyelids became heavy and she dozed fitfully for a minute, for an hour, for two hours, she couldn't tell._

_When she opened her eyes, the car was gone. She was alone, standing at the side of the road. Her hands were shaking, her hair was soaked and hanging limply around her shoulders. Misty rain fell around her. She couldn't make out the moon above or the ground below. Everything was wrapped in a thick gray fog. She opened her palms, curious what she was gripping so painfully tight. Out of her right hand, a scroll tumbled to the ground. It unspooled when it landed at her feet, the golden paper rubbed red with bloody fingerprints._

_She unfolded her other hand and a sliver of metal fell to the ground with a hollow clang. She stared at the silver crescent; the elegant curve reflected the clouded moonlight and glowed against the road's black granite. She recognized the object with a gasp—a bloody hook._

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Avoiding the glare of the streetlights, Belle hurried along a twisted maze of dark alleys. She'd covered her hospital gown with a man's trenchcoat she found hanging outside the nurses' station. The damp night air stuck to her as her tangled hair billowed around her shoulders like a drowning rose. By now her slippers were soaked with mud and stuck to her heels as she ran past the outskirts of town.

The town line. She had to get to the town line. She could feel the pull of it as she passed the edge of the town and headed into the deserted hillsides. The painkillers were wearing off, and a fiery sensation lapped at the wound on her head. Her feet began to slow, the slippers now raising blisters at the top of her feet. A cramp stung her side and she gripped her rib cage, willing herself to keep moving.

The road led her on into the darkness. The hillsides rose and fell in dark waves as the enchanted border drew near. She felt a sense of dread—unable to avoid her destination but terrified of what she might find there.

She raced on, rubbing her hands together until they were painfully red. _Please…oh god…it's my fault…it's my fault,_ she huffed as her voice caught in her throat. _I'm sorry…I'm so sorry._ _I'm not a hero. I knew I never could be. I'm a coward…It's my fault…"_ A flash of amber headlights behind her signaled the approach of a speeding car. She heard a car door open and the clatter of footsteps. She shook off a pair of hands as she staggered forward, fighting to keep her balance.

"Belle…It's us. It's us Belle. You're safe." Emma and David reassured her even as she pushed them away.

"Let me go…let me go…"

"Belle…wait…"

"No!" Belle spun around, her eyes wild and wide. "Let me go. You don't understand. It's my fault. His blood is on my hands. Don't you see it?" She held open her palms, shoving David away as she did.

"What blood Belle? There's no blood," David assured her. Emma forced Belle to face her, holding her still as she struggled.

"His blood. It's his blood. Don't you see? It's my fault. I didn't stop it. I didn't stop it. And now it'll never come off."

"Whose blood Belle?" Emma asked her, shaking her gently. Belle stopped struggling and stared at her hands.

"Oh Emma," she said softly. "I'm sorry. You'll never know how sorry I am." She lowered her head, hot tears streaming down her face, falling into her open palms.

Emma shook her again, less gently now, forcing her to meet her gaze. "Who are you talking about?"

"I'm so sorry... I should have stopped it. I wanted to stop it, but it happened quickly and…It didn't seem real. None of it _seemed_ real. I watched them… I thought it was a dream. And now the blood will never wash off my hands." She spread the falling tears over her palms, scrubbing them into her skin. "I know it'll never wash off."

She leaned forward, her eyes brimming with tears. "I want you to know that I was with him. I held his hand," she opened her palm, empty and pale. "He even smiled at me… he wasn't alone at the end. I wouldn't leave him. He knew I was there and that…that I wouldn't leave him. Not like that."

"Who are you talking about?" Emma whispered.

Belle shook her head sadly. "Hook."


	2. Chapter 2: Missing

Heart of Stone

Chapter 2: Missing

Emma searches for Killian with the help of her family. Warning-some mild language. Emma/Hook.

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Over the rising and falling hills, Emma raced toward the town line. 200 yards, 100 yards, the distance was closing fast. She tried to peer through the darkness, her flashlight casting a faint yellow light only six feet in front of her. Tears stung her eyes, blinding her. She stumbled over the uneven pavement, feeling her ankle twist painfully, but refused to slow for a moment to register the pain.

"Killian!" His name caught in her throat as she called to him. She felt a tug on her elbow and was whipped around. Her father held her fast even as she struggled against him.

"Emma stay here."

"No…I have to see him." She wiped her tears away, trying to peer into the gloom ahead.

"Emma. Stay. Here. Don't move." He planted her in place as he strode alone into the darkness.

An icy fear gripped her chest. Her heartbeat became a dull thud between her eyes, the beat syncing with David's heavy footsteps as he continued down the road without her. She waited a moment and staggered after him, holding her flashlight in front of her, trying to make out something, anything up ahead.

"Please God…please not him…not him please…not Killian…God not that…please," she muttered the words over and over again, running her prayers together in a mass that amounted to nothing. She let out a sob as David collided with her. "Is he…is he…?"

"He's not there," David assured her quietly, looking back at Belle who was still wringing her hands, trying to wash away an imaginary stain.

"He's not…oh thank God…" Emma almost sank to the ground in relief. She rushed past him, wanting to see, wanting to assure herself that Belle had imagined it all. It was probably some sick hallucination brought on by one of Gold's spells...or maybe it had something to do with the Snow Queen's failed magic…

"No Emma, don't go."

She turned, surprised. "Why not? He's not there…you said he's not there."

David nodded. "Yes…but…just don't go. Not yet."

Emma's face fell. Her heartbeat began to sound in her head again. "What's wrong?"

"He's not there. Killian isn't there…but…" he paused, avoiding her eyes"…something happened. I want you to wait. We're going to need some help with this."

"You never call him _Killian_," Emma said quietly. "You've never once called him Killian. It's always been _Hook_."

"Emma, let me make a few calls."

"Something's happened," she said angrily, pushing past him. This time he merely followed her, silently watching as she shone her flashlight down the road. He found his phone and began dialing contacts with a shaking hand.

Emma's flashlight caught an odd glimmer and she froze. Just in front of her, a large dull stain had spread across the road way. Impossibly wide, unmistakably red. It was as if the road itself refused to act as a silent witness to something unspeakable, and left the bloody evidence for all to see. The stain was at least six feet wide, forming a circle around a shadowed object. Emma approached slowly, shining the light on the sickle shape. Reaching down, she picked up a blood-stained hook.

David carefully eased towards her, watching as she studied the curved metal in her hand. "We should leave things as they are. We'll get help…I called Regina and your mother. They'll be here in a few minutes. Together we can work this out."

She stared at him for a moment, gripping the hook in her hand. Her gloves were now rubbed red with its dried blood, the same color as her jacket. Her eyes seemed blank and unreadable. For a moment she reminded him of the statues in Medusa's layer—alabaster figures staring sightlessly at the ruins around them. All at once she broke the stillness, springing past him, hurling herself towards Belle.

Emma charged her, holding the hook. "Where the hell is he?"

"He's gone Emma," Belle replied in a tired voice.

"Enough with the crazy talk Belle." Emma shoved the hook in her face. "We found this. We know he was here. Now what happened to him? Where's Killian?"

"I told you," Belle said quietly. "He's gone."

With a choking cry Emma lunged at Belle. She grabbed her by the collar, shaking her furiously. The hook cut into Belle's coat, slashing long marks into the dark fabric.

"Where is he Belle? What the hell happened to him?" Emma's grip tightened until her fingers were around her throat, the hook cutting shards of Belle's red hair. "What did your fucking husband do to Killian? Where are they? Do you hear me Belle? What did you see? I swear to God Belle if you're holding out on me..."

David rushed between them, pushing Emma away. The hook slid across his shoulder, tearing away the fabric of his shirt and slicing against his flesh.

"Emma, stop." He snatched the hook and held it safely out of reach.

"She knows where he is. She knows what happened," Emma shouted, pointing at Belle accusingly. "She can take us to Killian."

"Emma, she's not in any kind of state to tell us anything." David looked back at Belle, who started scrubbing her hands again, this time using sand to grind away the skin of her palm. "She's not thinking clearly."

"She's just covering for that twisted fuck of a husband."

"There's more to it than that."

"God dammit," Emma held her head in her hands. "I knew something was wrong. I knew it. I felt it…" She thought back to their last exchange at Granny's—Killian awkwardly praising the Dark One for finding a portal back to Arendelle, giving her a brief kiss and an odd smile as he headed off to God-knows-where. Then Anna admitting she'd met Gold years ago…Emma knew then that something was wrong. But being so preoccupied with Elsa and Anna, she'd filed it away, planning on teasing it out of Killian over drinks later. He could never keep anything from her for long…

Emma felt drops of water on her hands and thought it'd begun to rain again. It took her a second to realize there were tears streaming down her face. "We have to find him Dad. We have to," she said quietly, not bothering to wipe them away.

"We will sweetie."

He wasn't lying, but she could hear the doubt in his voice.

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"So you're telling me…what exactly?" Emma tapped her foot impatiently, glaring at the others in their search party. Snow and Regina had arrived quickly to the scene. At first Emma thought David had merely called her mother to comfort her, but as soon as Snow arrived, she started searching for tracks around the bloodstain.

As Snow sorted through the debris on the roadside, Regina cast a locator spell on the hook. In theory, the hook should have found its way back to its owner, leading them to Killian. Instead, the hook fell like a stone to the center of the stain, unmoving and fixed. Regina tried the spell several more times, each time with the same result. Snow, too, came up with no traces of Killian whatsoever. The only footprints leading away from the scene were tiny and barefoot and assumed to be Belle's. It seemed whatever happened took place within the concentric area of the stain.

Regina gestured towards the hook. "I don't know. I just…I don't know. This shouldn't be happening."

"Is something wrong with the spell?" Emma asked through gritted teeth. She'd stood by, useless and impatient while Regina fiddled with her magic and Snow sorted through blades of tall grass. And all for nothing.

Regina answered briskly, irritation in her voice. "There's nothing wrong with the spell. I _have_ done this a time or two in the past. It's fairly straightforward—I cast the spell and the hook should be reunited with its owner. Simple."

Emma threw up her hands. "Oh good. That's incredibly helpful. Definitely worth the wait. Hey Dad…Regina's cracked the case. We started with no clues at all and now _the hook is on the road. Right where we found it an hour ago_! Problem solved."

"Emma…" David warned.

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Sorry Regina, but I'm having a hard time with this. The spell is supposed to locate Killian, and I don't see him. So either I'm mistaken and he tunneled his way into the cement searching for buried treasure, or you fucked up the spell."

"I didn't…_fudge_ anything up, thank you. And there's nothing else I can do. For some reason, the hook is attracted to this location. I can't force it to do what you want. Whatever happened to Guyliner…um… Killian…this is where the trail ends."

Emma stared at the ground for a moment before turning to David. "So fine…something is special about this area. Maybe Gold did something to the road itself. I mean... why can we see the blood so clearly? The road is blacker than Regina's wardrobe. The stain is practically day-glo. It looks like someone poured paint over the pavement."

"The road here has strange properties," Regina explained. "Remember, the magic from all the curses have at one point or another all converged on this spot, and those curses left traces of residual magic each time. This town line is only a 'line' in theory. It's actually a boundary that's been defined by a series of spells. It may react strangely to any magic in the area."

"So…the town line is unpredictable," Emma said quietly, peering down the road. She took a few steps towards the magical border, pausing only when her mother touched her shoulder.

"What if Killian's there? What if he managed to cross the town line?" Emma motioned to the invisible barrier. "What if he's lying there right now, watching us fumble around while he bleeds to death?"

"We'd be able to see him," Regina assured her. "He couldn't see us, but we'd see him."

"Besides," Snow added. "There's nothing indicating he went in that direction." She motioned to the red circle. "There are no tracks, no traces of blood anywhere else."

"Well he didn't just melt into the ground folks!" Emma cried. "He's somewhere close by. He's lost about three liters of blood and we're standing around treating the crime scene like it's a God-damn Ouija board."

Snow touched her shoulder reassuringly. "Trust me Emma, we're going to find him."

"Oh really? Because what we're doing right now is the _opposite_ of finding him. We're standing around waiting for some useless spell to take effect. Meanwhile Belle knows exactly what happened and you take her back to the hospital for a snack and a sponge bath."

"Belle has a severe head injury and was under influence of some kind of sleeping potion. There were traces of it all over her. She's not going to give us the answers we need right now," David replied sternly.

"I'm sure that's what Gold wants us to think," Emma muttered.

"Emma…" he warned.

"No…this is exactly what Gold _would_ do. He leaves little clues for us to follow and while we're gathering up his breadcrumbs, he summons some mystical hell beast or raises an army of the dead or opens a portal to Middle Earth. Because that's the kind of thing he does… we're just pawns in his game and right now he's doing God-knows-what to Killian while we stare at a stain on the pavement."

David shook his head. "We don't know he has Killian. We don't even know if this is Killian's blood."

"What?" Emma reeled on him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Think Emma," David explained. "A puddle of blood on a dark road with a hook in the middle of it… Gold would've had no problem concealing that. He wanted us to find it."

Regina agreed. "It's not very subtle. It's the sort of message I would send. You know, to intimidate any uppity peasants. Heads on pikes, some burning farmhouses, couple of poisoned apples… after a few years of that, people fall in line."

Emma stared at them. "It's not subtle because Gold doesn't _care_ about us finding it. He obviously has an exit strategy. He's not worried about leaving any evidence behind because he's long gone."

"So his plan involves him leaving his wife behind, traumatized and wandering through the town? Doesn't sound like a great exit strategy to me," David replied quietly.

Emma remained silent, crossing her arms over her chest and staring into the woods.

David went on. "Something happened here Emma, but we need to be objective about it. We'll follow the evidence and see where it leads."

"Fine," she muttered, shaking her head. "And where will the evidence lead us next?"

"Next we'll comb through these woods."

"But Mom said…"

"I know…the trail ends here. But if Killian and Gold were here, there might be other evidence nearby. And somebody better check his usual haunts—the dock, boathouse, the station…for all we know Killian might be lying low somewhere."

"Did anyone even _try_ his cell phone?" Regina asked impatiently.

"Yes, I've tried his phone," Emma replied through gritted teeth, repressing an urge to hurl her cell phone at Regina's perfectly coiffed head.

David nodded. "Fine. Regina, you stay here, trying to do what you can with the locator spell. Snow, you and Emma sweep the woods nearby. I'll head back into town, check out the places he'd usually be. Everyone keep your phones on."

"Oh…" David added. "And if you see Gold, don't approach him." He looked pointedly at Emma. "He may not know anything about this…but if he does, we'd better get a tail on him."

Emma nodded. "Right. And after I disembowel him, you can see what he had for dinner last night. Might help establish his timeline."

"Emma!" Snow said, staring at her daughter.

Emma turned away wordlessly, stalking towards the woods, knowing in her heart they'd never find anything. The key to this whole mystery was with Gold. Wherever he was.

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As Regina busied herself with her spell and Emma stomped noisily through the woods, David pulled Snow aside, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Keep Emma busy. Don't let her back into town for at least two hours. I'll have Ruby sit with Belle until I get there, but I don't want Emma to question her without me."

Snow stared at her husband. "You don't think Emma would do anything to hurt Belle, do you?"

He answered slowly. "No, I don't think she'd do anything intentionally... But right now, with the state she's in, she may not be thinking rationally. I'll have Regina check in on Belle tonight. Maybe she can conjure up a potion to get Belle to remember exactly what she saw."

"That would certainly help. What exactly did Belle say about all this?"

"Nothing that made any sense. She said Killian was gone, and she'd never get the blood off her hands."

Snow shook her head. "That doesn't sound good David."

"Yeah, I know. But then again, Belle wasn't exactly coherent. She had a concussion and she was under some kind of sedation. We don't know how reliable her story is."

Snow watched her daughter with a grave expression. "If Killian is…_gone_…I don't know how Emma's going to take it. She hasn't told me much about their relationship, but from what I've seen, Killian's death would…"

"We don't know anything at this point," he interrupted. "Right now we need to keep Emma calm. Focus her energy on finding evidence. Assuming the worst isn't going to help the situation. It might actually hurt the investigation. Just keep Emma busy with the search, and don't let her near Belle."

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As a fiery sunrise signaled the end of a long night, Emma found herself trudging up the stairs to Killian's apartment. Their search through the woods had turned up nothing, and no one had seen him since Gold disappeared. She knew David had already searched the apartment, but she didn't want to go home. She _couldn't_ go home. She saw it all now—pacing around the crowded loft, fixing herself a cup of tea and eating crackers in bed, acting like nothing had happened. And then there were her parents…they'd be home already, fussing over baby Neal, fixing breakfast with the weather channel playing in the background_. _She could already see her mother's sympathetic looks and hear her father's grave assurances.

None of it would feel right. Not with Killian still out there, injured and alone.

Emma turned the key she commandeered from Granny and opened the door. She blinked as orange and red sunlight filled the small space. She'd been inside only once or twice before, usually standing awkwardly in the doorway as Killian grabbed a jacket or his phone. Emma had carefully avoided the temptation of being alone with him in his apartment—and he never pressed the issue. She hadn't been ready for it. _They_ hadn't been ready for it. The relationship was too new; too powerful in its potential. They didn't want to rush into something that would complicate what was already endlessly complicated.

Now as she stepped inside, she became painfully aware of how empty the place was without him. It was a small studio apartment, a single bedroom and bath. The view from the large bay windows dominated the tight space. It looked out over the expanse of the docks. The sight of sailboat masts and yachts must have been a comfort for him—each time she'd been by, the curtains were flung wide open, even though Killian valued his privacy.

The view of the bay offered a rosy winter sunrise—water as smooth as cut glass, mist hanging heavy in the air, black-freckled seaweed dotting the shoreline, jutting rocks lurking in the shallows. She turned away from the sight, closing the curtains with a sigh and switching on a lamp.

The rest of the room was nothing extraordinary. The comforters and curtains were navy blue and white, the kind of fabrics you'd find any seaside hotel. He had no need of any kind of ornamentation, but his personality was scattered amongst the scant possessions if you knew where to look.

A few sketches of his sailboat designs lay on the desk. He'd shown her a few, and she'd been impressed with the amount of detail he managed to capture on a few pieces of parchment. The calculations were scribbled on some hotel stationary nearby. She skimmed through them, but the math was beyond her.

She remembered once asking him where he'd learned to sketch like that.

"My schooling as a young man," he'd replied.

She shook her head. "What? Like…pirate school?"

He'd looked at her oddly. "No…not really."

At the time, she felt like she'd offended him, but they were busy chasing a Snow Queen, and she didn't bring it up again. Now she wished she had.

She glanced over his dresser. A tortoise shell comb lay next to his cologne, cell phone, and a few expensive looking watches. Beside it, a stack of doubloons glinted in the lamplight (he had a stockpile of them somewhere but feared pirate he was, he'd never tell anyone where). The TV was dusty and unused—he said the contraption gave him a headache. But he'd promised to watch _Pirates of the Caribbean_ with Henry after being assured that the pirates were indeed the heroes and Jack Sparrow was in no-way based on his own character.

She saw a pile of library books on the end table—_Perfume_ and the _Master and Commander_ series (probably suggested by Belle); _The Princess Bride_, _Grendel_, and _I Am Legend_ (definitely Henry recommendations), and grimaced at her own pathetic suggestion: _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_. He'd asked her once about the kinds of books she read. She'd been too embarrassed to tell him that her taste in literature ran to _Us Weekly_ and back-issues of _Cosmo_, and she'd managed to stammer out the only book she could ever remember reading in school. She picked up the novella, aware of how painfully thin and meager it was compared to the others. It took her a moment to realize it wasn't a library book at all. He'd actually gone out and bought a copy.

She flipped through the pages and recognized his elegant handwriting scrawled in the margins. From what she read, he actually seemed to enjoy it…writing notes about motifs, foreshadowing, and dramatic irony. She suddenly felt a flash of panic—what if he wanted to talk to her about it? She'd read it years ago and could hardly remember who the villain was. _Okay…wait…it's Dr. Jekyll, right? Or maybe Hyde…but they're both the same person, so obviously both are the villain, but in different_ _ways. There…now I won't sound quite so culturally retarded. But what the hell is a motif? And I definitely shouldn't mention The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen…_

She held the book in her hand as she examined a few pieces of jewelry on the bedside table; she'd noticed he'd started wearing less as his own look became decidedly modern. _Modern…and_ _hot, _she smiled, thinking about his changing wardrobe. That was the word that sprang to mind when she first saw him without the long leather coat and embroidered vest. _Hot_. The kind of guy women would stare at in the street, maybe cast a lingering second glance just to may sure their eyes weren't playing tricks on them.

Since then, she'd taken to walking very close to him, gripping his arm whenever they strolled together in public, as if to say, _Yeah, he's mine…Stare all you want but you're wasting your time._ The waitresses at Granny's were the worst. They must have been well-tipped tavern wenches in the Enchanted Forest because they made special effort to flash him flirty little grins when he was ordering drinks. But he never seemed to notice—he was usually too busy challenging her to a game of darts or teasing her about the weak-kneed domestic beer she always ordered.

She smiled even as tears shone in her eyes.

She could find traces of him everywhere. The room even smelled like him—clover and warm cider. She half-expected him to walk up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, smell her hair, whisper something sweet in her ear just to see her smile.

Opening the closet, she saw a rack of neatly stored clothes, all black, all well-cut and carefully chosen. A while ago he'd mention about the importance of image…how the perception of a man determined his success in life. She'd debated him on that, calling it shallow, saying how the work you did mattered, not how you looked. She'd gotten worked up about it, talking so fast that at one point he threatened to hire himself a translator.

In the end he'd just shrugged and said if a man can't make an effort to look presentable, no one's going take him seriously. Then he'd laughed and said it was nice having a meaningless argument with her.

"What do you mean…meaningless?" She'd asked, almost hurt.

"No giants chasing us, no time traveling witches, or demon-seed snowmen to contend with…it's nice having an argument over a few beers at Granny's about something that really doesn't matter. I kinda like it," he smiled shyly, taking a sip of his beer.

She'd shut up then, realizing he'd win every argument by just looking at her like that.

_Dammit Killian,_ she muttered, taking a jacket off a hanger and holding it close. Her eyelids drifted shut and she found herself crawling over the bed, losing the battle against a bone-weary fatigue. Curling up in his blankets, she clutched the jacket and his book tightly against her, wrapping her own arms around her shoulders, imagining it was him holding her as she fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3: Mourning Glory

Chapter 3: Mourning Glory

It's been five days since Killian and Rumple went missing. Belle hides from her guilt while Emma suffers in her own personal darkness. Ruby takes a moment to reflect on Hook's absence.

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Belle

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Belle cowered underneath the safety of her hospital bed sheets. They were clean and white and warmed by the afternoon sunlight. She whiled away the time by biting her nails and playing with the curling ends of her hair. Sometimes she took to folding bits of paper, creating little cranes and crooked flowers that fell like snowflakes onto the polished floor.

The hospital staff urged her to go on walks, to take in the afternoon air, to stretch her legs and leave her room. And for five days she'd refused. Her days and nights were spent hiding underneath her covers, nervously fiddling with paper flowers and unread novels. The few times she's slept, she had nightmares about waves of blood rushing over her, a black road swallowing her whole or bloodstained hooks reaching for her. She woke up drenched in sweat, holding her hand over her heart, wondering if Emma's desire to crush it was the only logical way for this story to end.

Five days had passed since they'd found her wandering like a wounded animal through the streets, and for five days David questioned her about what she saw, about the blood stain in the road, about Hook and her memories and where her husband could be...

She'd given them next to nothing. All she had were small dark visions that came to her in violent flashes: the glint of a hook, Killian's face cupped in her hands, blood pooling around her feet...just snippets and shadows. Nothing that could help them. Nothing that could help anyone.

David always questioned her alone. Emma kept away, although Belle could sense her nearby—pacing down the hallway, twisting an empty coffee cup in her hand, gripping a doorway until her knuckles were white. Her fury came off her in waves, white hot and venomous, distinctive in its screaming intensity. Emma's hate was as pointed as any dagger, and directly solely at Belle.

Emma's breaking heart was to blame, Belle decided with a fatalistic certainty. She could feel it even now hiding under the covers. A harsh, burning, black heartbreak that was smoldering every second Killian remained missing. For who could stand in a fire and not be consumed? At times she tried to muster some kind of answer to Emma's hatred, some kind of reasonable explanation as to what happened to Killian that night. Some kind of clue that would help them find him…or at least what remained of him…

Nothing came to her, and Belle eventually decided that Emma could hate her freely. Belle couldn't stop her hatred any more than she could stop a celestial event. For Emma, the heavens would forever be out of alignment, and Belle was the one responsible. Emma could kill her now and blame it on the moonlight. Belle wouldn't think any less of her.

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Ruby

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Pockets of gray sunlight found their way through the large windows of Granny's diner. The air was brisk and cold, with glorious white clouds set against a silver sky. Ruby's bright red apron and high heels stood out vibrantly against her customer's somber winter clothes. Even though the frosty creatures of Arendelle had departed in a flurry of shattered glass and snow, the town was just now settling in for a long and dreary winter.

The click of high heels, the tapping of forks against sticky plates, the clink of glasses and the guzzling of the coffeemaker—so much went into creating this pretty little pocket of predictability. Sometimes Ruby would hear the stabbing thud of a dart hitting a bullseye and she'd suddenly turn, expecting to see Hook standing there, flirty smile on his face, half-finished Belgian ale nearby…but it was never him. And the dart never quite hit its mark.

A shimmer of blonde hair caught the corner of her eye, and Ruby spotted Emma hurrying up the back stair case. Ruby watched her sadly, wincing as she heard the door slam behind her. Since Killian's disappearance, Emma had taken up residence in his apartment, shutting the windows and locking the doors, catching a few odd hours of sleep before continuing the hunt. It was the only time Ruby ever saw Emma these days—flying up the back staircase, dark circles under her eyes, a look of dread on her drawn face...

Without letting herself think too much about it, Ruby grabbed a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tomato soup. Stuffing them in a to-go bag, she rushed up the back staircase after Emma.

Her high heels echoed along the empty hallway as she reached Killian's door. She hesitated a few moments before knocking. _Come on Ruby…it's the least you can do…Emma's really suffering and obviously a grilled cheese sandwich will solve all her problems. Right. Sure. Good thinking…_She took a breath and knocked.

The door swung open immediately. There was Emma, staring at her, blinking against the morning light. The room behind her was pitch black. Ruby wondered how she found her way around in such darkness.

"Ruby," Emma said tiredly. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Ruby replied, shifting uncomfortably under Emma's dead-eyed stare. "I thought you might be hungry. Here, it's your favorite. Grilled cheese and tomato soup." She held up the bag, almost as a shield. As if to say, _Don't punch me…I come bearing a hot lunch._

"Oh. Thanks." Emma took the bag and looked inside. She attempted a smile, but it somehow made her look even sadder than before.

"I…um…" Ruby swallowed hard. "I was wondering if you guys have found anything yet."

"No. We haven't found anything."

"But that's a good thing, right? I mean…no news is good news."

"Sure." Emma began to sink back into the darkness behind her.

For some reason, Ruby wanted to keep her talking, keep her out in the light. "You know…we really miss him around here. We all liked him a lot. Everyone did. The place isn't the same without him." Ruby chuckled nervously. "The Belgium ale is gathering dust and the girls all keep staring at the dartboard, wishing that…you know…he'd turn up."

"Yeah. I know." Tears sprang into Emma eyes. Ruby could almost read Emma's thoughts: _ "No duh you fucking idiot. How do you think I feel?"_

"Oh…okay…" _Just say something nice…anything nice… and get the hell out of here_. "I just wanted to let you know, we all think he's going to turn up. Eventually, you know. He'd better bring us some pretty little presents to make up for all this. Am I right?" _Ah…great…I am an officially an idiot…_

"Sure Ruby." Emma slipped back into the shadowed room, locking the door behind her.

Ruby winced as she heard the lock click. _So…that went terribly_. _I was idiotic and rude and I'm pretty sure Emma thinks I'm retarded too so yeah…good work_…she started back down the staircase, muttering to herself. She paused for a moment when she caught the sound of muffled sobs coming from behind the closed door. Ruby bowed her head, listening as Emma smothered her deep shaking cries in a pillow.

Tears welling in her own eyes, she hurried down the hallway, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the dark sorrow Emma was carrying. Ruby could offer little comfort, and Emma was in no place to take it.

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Emma

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After Ruby left, Emma lay alone in the darkness. The curtains were tightly drawn, and the dark covers were tucked over her head. She took comfort in the shelter of these small shadows. In fact, every layer of darkness was appreciated. Even the overcast morning had lent another layer of gloom she could hide under. Lately, Emma kept her movements regulated to nighttime excursions. Wrapped in black turtlenecks and high-collar jackets, she avoided the streetlamps, the glare of store windows, the flickering security lights of warehouses. Night after night she walked along her own dark path, alone and unseen.

She didn't want anyone to see her like this. Not in this state of suffering. Even _she_ didn't want to see herself, avoiding all mirrors like the plague. The only times she ever saw herself were in the black reflections of car windows, and even then she could hardly make out her features, she had burrowed so deeply into her own personal darkness.

Emma remembered a time when she could fight back her feelings, focusing on her job or her family or the beastie-of-the-week. Now her emotions came unbidden in stabbing bursts of pain; dry and burning, full of fire and regret—an intensity so sharp it sawed along her nerves, cauterizing wounds she never knew existed. It was a despair she'd never felt, a level of pain she didn't know she was capable of. A shift in her own constellations had occurred, and she was staring at a sky she didn't recognize. A sky full of dagger-shaped stars and silver-spiked moonlight.

She had always considered sorrow a cold thing, something chilling you could guard against, something that could be countered with light and warmth and hope. But these last few days she'd learned something—Sorrow was an emotion that burned…burned deeply and white-hot. These fires blew in from dark deserts, shriveling shreds of hope into whiskers of pale straw. Sometimes she thought if she held up her hand, a scorching dryness would lick through, leaving nothing but charred skin and ashen bone. So she avoided the light and moved through the shadows, taking comfort in their promise of invisibility.

Emma couldn't remember when this mourning started, when this burning black heartache had begun. The last five days and nights had long since run together like a graying watercolor. She and David had combed over Gold's shop, the woods, the boat docks… Questioning everyone, anyone, who might have seen anything. For days they came up with nothing. Not one person could tell them where Gold was or where Killian could be. They had simply vanished.

Her nights were now spent following-up on nonexistent leads. Regina, Snow and David stayed out of her way, forcing food on her and helping her when needed. They only interfered when she brought up the possibility of questioning Belle. They firmly refused to let her near the only witness... David had already questioned her and her insane rantings never changed. Through a joint effort they kept Emma away from her. Emma understood their concern, but the resentment still smoldered whenever she thought about it—burning deeply and painfully. Even now when she began to reflect on it, Emma fought back a black bitter resentment.

Before the tears came again, she grabbed her jacket and rushed out of the apartment. Sleep would be long in coming, and she didn't want to dwell on Belle's total-and-complete-fucking-uselessness alone in the dark.

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Storming out along the docks, Emma blinked at the morning light. The sunrise was taking shape over the horizon. The day was going to be gray and frosty, lacking in color and life. Checking her messages, she impatiently punched numbers into her phone. Nearby, two girls were sitting on a stack of shipping crates, texting and retouching their makeup.

Sheltered by a pile of empty boxes, Emma tried to ignore them, but their shrill laughter carried to her own shadowed corner.

"Did you see the Sheriff this morning? Damn…" Emma recognized the speaker as Marcy, a red-headed waitress at Granny's. The other one was Jenna, a short blonde who worked at a gas station nearby. "…she looks like an extra on _The Walking Dead_. She is _not_ taking this well."

Jenna shrugged. "Who is? Only one guy gets killed during that stupid Snow Bitch curse and it _had_ to be the sexy pirate. I mean, seriously? Why couldn't the dwarfs murder/suicide each other?"

Marcy checked the vicious shade of red on her lip-liner. The color matched her phone cover. "Shit, he _was_ a sexy pirate, right? Fucking adorable. What the hell is wrong with life when, out of all the rejects in this realm, he's the guy who ends up dead?"

"I'd have hit that. Hit that HARD." Jenna giggled, her lipstick puckering on her mouth in a severe streak of pink. "They were dating, weren't they?"

"Who? Swan and Hook? Barely." Marcy cackled. "I don't know what Swan thought she was doing with him. I wouldn't call it dating."

"They went out a few times." Jenna tilted her head, confused. "It looked like they were dating. Everyone said so."

"Yeah right. I saw them once on a so-called 'date.' And the whole time I'm watching them thinking, _What the hell does he see in her_? Some cranky thirty-something with a dorky kid and trust issues? No thank you… I mean, he's sooooo fuckable and she's just, like, so mean to him."

"Maybe he liked that. Some guys do."

Marcy shrugged and touched up her bright-blue mascara. "Sure. Every guy wants to be with some damaged-goods cop who yells at them… Right. If she's our dating role model then fuck me, feminism sucks."

"It seemed to be working for her. I saw them together a few times. He was super attentive and polite. Like one of those yummy guys on _Downton Abbey_." Jenna sighed dreamily.

"Okay, one… that show is the _worst_. And two…those dried-up dowagers at Downton were getting a million-times more sex than Swan ever did."

"Nooooo that's not possible. I mean…how do you say 'no' to guy like that?"

"Panty-melter."

"Total panty-melter," Jenna agreed.

"Come on, Swan was waaaay too frustrated to be getting ass on a regular basis. I'm surprised she doesn't cough up cobwebs."

"Yeah, look who's talking."

"Fuck you!" Marcy smacked her playfully.

"Besides, it's not like we're going to have a chance with him now. He's _dead_ dude. It's the most depressing thing ever. I don't know how I'm going to get through this shift."

"What a waste... I'll bet Sheriff Savior is kicking herself in the ass for letting Captain Lickable get killed on her watch. Least we didn't have our chance and blow it."

"You blow it."

"No…you blow it."

The girls laughed and put away their phones, heading back to the cluster of backdoors.

Emma stared at them, their shrill laughter hanging in the air long after they were gone. The sentiment wasn't a surprise—obnoxious girls drooling over Killian were as common as curses in Storybrooke. But what struck her was the fact that people assumed Killian was dead. The girls talked about him like he was already gone. It never occurred to her that people would believe Belle's insane rantings about him being "gone forever."

Messages forgotten, Emma staggered back to his apartment. As she climbed the stairs, she went over the evidence of the case. The cop part of Emma's mind screamed at her. "_Where's the body? Can't make a case without a body. Besides, he's survivor. If there's one thing he's good at…it's surviving. He said it himself a hundred times…"_ She held onto that thought like a starving dog with a bone.

But now, in his empty apartment, with only the smell of congealing tomato soup in the air, despair found her again. She let it burn through her, hot and scented with fire. A bitter taste of bile pressed against her throat and an iron grip coiled around the back of her head. She climbed into his bed and curled under his covers. Sleep came slowly, almost painfully. At length she gave way to the black void calling to her.

Before she closed her eyes, she wondered if she was taking refuge in the shadows, or if the shadows were finally finding her.

_Killian_…she whispered to no one... _Find your way back to me. Don't leave me here alone in the dark._


	4. Chapter 4: Town Line

Chapter 4: What Happened at the Town Line

In this chapter, we see what happened between Rumple and Hook at the town line and how Belle wandered into Storybrooke, bloodstained and delirious. Warning: Some character violence.

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Rumple and Killian

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At the stroke of midnight, an unassuming sedan crawled along the alleyways of Storybrooke. The road to the town line was usually deserted as any abandoned highway**,** but tonight Rumple's battered car slowly approached. Shadowed by tinted windows, two figures in the front seat stared silently ahead. The sound of light breathing came from a sleeping passenger in the back.

Nothing about the night felt natural. A howling wind shook the bare branches of the dark woodland. Evening shadows gathered closer and closer, forming sharp angles along the roadside. Thunder lingered in the distance. The razor sting of frost hung in the air. Black clouds gathered over the night sky, growling ominously as the wind brought the promise of freezing rain. It was as if nature itself were daring the travelers to continue along their way, flashing subtle signs of its own insidious power.

The car slowed to a stop and two men silently left the vehicle, finding their way in the glare of the headlights. One was tall, dressed in black, with slick dark hair and permanent scowl brought on by decades of disappointment. The other was wearing a lopsided grin and a tailored suit with a scarf lightly scented with cologne his wife bought him. From time to time she would dab a little on the end of his nose and make jokes about avoiding open flames. The perfume was neither sweet nor strong, a rich scent of spices and tea leaves. It hovered in the air, a grim witness to their ceremony.

"Well, well, well Dearie," Rumple beamed, his dagger flashing cheerfully in his hand. "Here we are again. It's wonderfully poetic, isn't it? You, me, and Belle, all converging on the town line. Except this time, you are sadly unarmed."

Rumple paused. "Get it? Because last time you had a gun, and now you don't. Also, you only have one hand…it works on two levels." He giggled as Hook shook his head gravely. "I know, I know, you've heard them all before. But you won't have to worry about that anymore, will you? All those heavy-handed puns will be a thing of the past. Isn't that comforting? Well... _Comforting_ is the wrong word. You just won't be around to hear them. Because you'll be dead. Not a fair trade mind you, but then again, I didn't get where I am today by dealing fairly with the folks I kill. They call me _The Dark One_. Not the _Fair One Who Kills You Anyway_."

He paused, savoring the speech, knowing it would be the last Hook would ever hear. He wanted to shout it underneath the starry sky, but that might wake his bride, who was sleeping soundly in the car parked in the distance. What he planned next wouldn't need an audience.

"Well dammit if that doesn't feel wonderful to say out loud. You'll be dead, and I'll be alive. Worms will be making a feast of your marrow while I'm transversing the realms with my lovely wife. Makes me want to do a jig, or at least take a selfie. Here, hold still." Rumple clutched his cell phone and pulled Hook in for a blurry close-up. "Say _Bon Voyage_." He beamed proudly as Hook stared blankly into the camera. Rumple examined the image and shook his head. "I never do that right. I always end up looking constipated."

"Aye," Hook said quietly, cringing inwardly like a wounded animal. He fought to keep his face emotionless, lest Rumple gain any satisfaction from seeing the fear lashing through him. Hook could feel the pressure building in his chest, the sweat beading on his forehead. His heart had been tucked carelessly into Rumple's pocket. It was burrowed there now, huddled and waiting for whatever the Dark One had in store. Two years ago, Hook had broken Rumple's heart by maiming Belle. Now, here they were—The Dark One threatening to crush his heart and having the power to do it. Same place, same players, enacting the same sad little drama. The irony was enough to make him vomit.

Rumple grinned wildly. "Once you're gone, there's nothing to stop me. I'll be free of the dagger, free of the troublesome pirate, free of the binds that tie me to this meager little realm. You've made me the happiest man in the world. I almost feel like we should be exchanging rings…or maybe that's still illegal in this state…" he waved it off. "Don't know, don't care. Now here's the fun part…"

Rumple tucked the dagger in his jacket and took out Hook's heart, sighing with satisfaction as he watched the bloody red orb pump steadily in his hand. "Look at that," he said, amazed. "Such an inconvenient little thing, isn't it? You know, if you hadn't let Milah capture it all those years ago, you wouldn't be in any danger now. Hearts are so richly symbolic. It's a good thing that tearing out rectums never caught on amongst the witches in our community. How would we find poetry in that?"

Hook snarled, his eyes fixed on Rumple's wide grin. "So… that's it? You're going to crush my heart? Go right ahead. Be my guest. If it ends this conversation, I'm more than willing to die a painful death. Please…feel free to end my suffering at anytime. Just stop monologuing."

"I'm not monloguing." Rumple frowned, a bit put-out. He wanted Hook to suffer. To feel real fear. To sense his doom and beg for mercy. But so far he'd only grunted an agreement about unflattering selfies. "We're having a conversation. A very real conversation about your imminent demise. I just happened to be talking more than you are."

Hook nodded. "Right. Anything you say. Now you can put me out of my misery one of two ways—shut up or kill me. Either one's a better alternative to this. Go on and crush it."

Rumple stared at him, wide-eyed. "Crush it…crush this little beauty? Is that what you think I'm going to do? Is that really how you think this ends?"

"Perhaps your plan involves driving me to suicide with your inane speeches."

"Now now Dearie, I'm as eager to be done with it as you are. Ridding you of your sad, empty little life has been a dream of mine for years. You can't blame me for wanting to savor the moment. But I'm not going to crush your heart. No, no, no…I'm going to keep it quite safe. Safer than it ever has been…" Rumple pulled out Ingrid's scroll. He muttered the incantation, looking to the sky to ensure the alignment was complete. The heavens cleared for a moment and the stars formed a web of shimmering constellations.

Rumple grinned and put the scroll back in his jacket. "Showtime," he said, his eyes glowing green. His hand curled around Hook's heart. A wave of pain washed over Hook as he sank to his knees. "No, no, no…Keep your eye on the bouncing ball." Rumple waved the heart in front of him. Hook stared as Rumple's free hand reached into his own chest, past the perfumed scarf and through the scarred skin. His hand rested there for a moment, and with a great sigh, Rumple pulled out his own heart, a blackened lump, now beating steadily in his palm.

He stood there triumphantly, holding the two hearts in his hands. One black as a leather covered in embers, the other blazing red, beating wildly. "Journey's end in two hearts beating." Rumple twisted his mouth into a warped grin.

Hook staggered to his feet. "What the hell are you doing Crocodile?"

"I told you, I'm freeing myself from his cursed dagger. Now hold still. With any luck, this next part will be quite painful." Rumple cackled as he shoved the blackened lump into Hook's chest. Hook bellowed and toppled to the ground, clutching his ribs as a shadowed bruise formed. Sweat broke out over his forehead and he fell to the pavement along with the freezing rain.

Without a word, he deftly slipped Hook's heart into his own chest. A lifetime of practice had made it as simple as tucking the pocketwatch into his jacket. "There now…I give my heart unto thee…Hey, maybe we should be exchanging rings after all."

Rumple glanced at the stars overhead. The shimmering light dimmed and the clouds melted together, veiling the sky in a gray gloom. "Now let's see if the Snow Witch was right after all." Rumple held the dagger up to the headlights. The light caught the silver glare and the etching _Rumplestiltskin_ glittered on the curved blade. Then a change slowly took place. The _R_ disappeared from view. Then the _U_. Then the _M_…He watch as his name faded from the cursed blade. His grin grew brighter as his name disappeared altogether. Eventually, all he could see was the reflection of his glowing green eyes.

The blade was clean and bright as starlight. The dagger no longer had a hold over him. His name was his own once more. A smile spread across the Dark One's face. Finally, he was free.

Hook stirred, trying to get to his feet, but Rumple rushed to his side.

"Now now…don't stand up yet." He knelt down beside Hook, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. "It may take a moment to get used to. It's no small thing, switching hearts with someone. But the spell is a simple one, as most powerful spells are." Ingrid's lovely face flashed before his. He remembered how she'd hovered into his shop, tendrils of her icy blonde hair trailing behind her. Anyone who came near her noticed the clean scent of snow, like the gathering clouds on a winter's day.

"Ingrid you see," Rumple explained slowly, savoring the memory. "She found a way for me to free myself of this wretched thing." He patted Hook's shoulder reassuring. "It's lovely. Truly a thing of beauty. Arendelle witches approach their spells with an elegance lacking in Storybrooke. Shattered mirrors, frozen hearts, enchanted ribbons, sentient snowmen… They make our own curses look as awkward as Snow White's haircut…" Rumple sighed before going on.

"The Snow Witch told me that to free myself from the dagger, I had to switch hearts with my oldest acquaintance… The heart of a man who knew me before I changed. That's the key. Someone who knew me as a mortal." Rumple smiled contently, gripping the dagger in his hand. "And that someone, is you Dearie—the only one left who saw me before I assumed my place as the Dark One. And now I'm leaving my heart in your hands, or hand. Oh sorry, more puns. Or is that word play? Either way, I'm grateful to you."

Rumple lowered his voice until he was hissing in Hook's ear. "In fact…I'll even give you a little souvenir." He waited until Hook turned to face him. With a grin, he shoved the dagger into Hook's ribcage.

"It's the least I can do. As I said before…you're my oldest friend," he muttered as Hook collapsed against him, blood gushing down the slick blade.

Rumple cut into him easily, feeling, rather seeing the knife slip through Hook's flesh over and over again. The sleet and rain came down on them like silver spikes as Hook fell to the cement. Hook choked and retched. Even on the ground, he fought back; punching and thrashing as blood poured from his neck, his chest, his mouth. His movements eventually ceased and he lay there, his lips opening and closing, making unpleasant smacking sounds.

"You just hang onto this for me. I won't be needing it anymore," Rumple snarled. In a single fluid movement, he flicked his wrist and buried the knife in Hook's side.

Rumple dusted himself off and straightened his scarf, experiencing a feeling very near to joy. As Hook's gurgling breaths quieted, he looked down, wondering if Hook was making a final pact with God or perhaps mouthing a prayer learned in childhood. Of all the sins, murder was the most blasphemous—if Hook could put his thoughts into words, surely the heavens would weep for him…

Rumple would not.

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Belle

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Curled up in the backseat of the car, Belle slowly stirred from her slumber. The evening had turned into an inky black night, and from the branches nearby a council of crows sang a cackling song. She felt like she was rising slowly from an underwater tomb—brushing past sooty leaves and upturned roots as she floating toward a surface muddied with dead petals and decayed lily pads. It took more effort than she expected to open her eyes and sit up in her seat. Peering through the dingy windshield, everything around her seemed hazy and dark.

The glow of the headlights revealed the silhouette of her husband, and she smiled at the thought of him changing a flat tire or trying to jump a dead battery (the only reason she could think of for them to be stopped in the middle of nowhere).

Brushing her curls from her eyes, she slid from her seat and left the car. She noticed that she was barefoot and for a moment wondered why. She wanted to ask Rumple where her shoes were, but her husband was some distance away. Suddenly she froze when she saw he was not alone. A sense buried deep inside her flashed a warning…Something was wrong. Incredibly wrong.

She saw her husband cantering around Hook, almost gleefully leaping in place. Rumple's fingers twirled an imaginary spool in the air, mimicking the movement he made at his beloved spinning wheel. She recognized the gesture—he always did it just before something violent happened.

Her eyes followed Rumple's nimble fingers as he reached into his pocket and took out his dagger. _Maybe I'm dreaming this and the dream is ending_, she told herself as Rumple brandished the glinting dagger in front of him. She could see the cold metal flashing even as the rising bile in the back of her throat began to choke her. Her stomach churned violently and she knelt down in the ditch by the roadside, dry heaving and clutching her chest to keep from choking. She took a deep breath, trying to clear her head, and caught the scent of Rumple's cologne, the kind she bought him for Christmas…

She took several gasping breaths before peering over the edge of the ditch. The starlight cast a silvery light on the dagger glinting in his palm. He was leaning over Hook, muttering something in his ear. With a flick of his wrist, Rumple shoved the dagger into Hook's chest, a wide grin fixed to his face. Clapping her hands over her mouth, she sank back into the tall grass, curling up in a tight ball, willing it to be a dream, willing herself to wake up from this nightmare.

"_Wake up…wake up…this is a dream…it has to be a dream…open your eyes and wake up…" _

Belle crouched in darkness, her eyes closed tightly, her hands alternating between smothering her mouth and digging into her ears. Rocking back and forth, she forced herself to keep breathing. She felt so vastly and entirely lost, felt the suffocating futility of her life, the meaningless of her marriage—it had to be a dream and one that was quickly ending.

Whispers beckoned her from a profound darkness. The air turned cold and sharp. Raindrops pricked her forehead, shaking her from her stupor. Slowly, she opened her eyes, trying to peer into the gloom around her. The car was gone. The road was awash in darkness once more. Even the crows had stopped cackling.

Climbing out of the ditch, she saw a crumpled mass by the town line.

"Hook?" She called to him, her voice never rising above a whisper. "Hook?" She staggered forward, collapsing at his side, fighting back her tears even as they fell with the raindrops on his face.

"Are you…can you hear me? I'm …I'm so sorry…please…" the words caught in her throat. She forced herself to look at him, to see the gaping wounds her husband had caused, see the blood pouring from his chest, spreading across the road beneath them. She took in the twisted limbs, the strands of matted black hair, the dagger buried in his side still shining with starlight.

"Hook…I'm here. I'm right here."

His eyelids fluttered slightly and she felt his hand move against hers. She clasped it, holding it tightly, as if she could somehow mend his body just by willing it.

"I'm here. What can I do? What…" She felt the warm pool of blood spreading beneath them, soaking her skirt as she leaned over Hook's butchered body. "What can I do?" She repeated the question again and again, the words sounding hollow and far away.

"I'll get Emma," she said, "I'll go get Emma…or Regina. Regina can heal you…"

He tightened his grip on her hand. He wanted her to stay.

"All right. Yes. All right. I won't go. I'm here… I won't leave you." Her hand held his, and she brought his fingers to her lips, pressing a kiss to each of them.

She touched his cheek, brushing it softly and stroked his forehead, soothing him the way a mother would soothe her sick child. She remembered a lullaby her mother sang to her at night and hummed it quietly as she kissed his hand. For a moment he smiled slightly. She felt him tighten his grip as he took a gasping breath that seemed to never leave him. His chest stilled, and his hand fell limply from hers.

"Hook?" She whispered. "Hook?" She knew he'd never answer her.

For a moment the clouds overhead cleared, and the moon's rays beat down on them through a graying mist. A red puddle pooled beneath them, bearing a filthy witness to the act. She took a step away from the body, because now it was just that—a body. Lifeless and spent. A golden thread had been cut, and he would never wake again.

She began to back away from the scene. Her feet, slick and wet, fell away from her for a second. She landed hard, her head and hip slamming into the concrete with a sickening thud.

Her breath caught in her throat and she choked and coughed, thrashing on the ground. A concussion flamed at the back of her bruised skull. Her tears turned to laughter which turned into a silent scream that she carried with her down the twisting black road. She crawled towards the rising sun, not knowing exactly where she was. Her head was spinning and her breath came in hiccuping gasps. She smelled the crisp scent of dew and winter honeysuckle and sensed she was near a forest

Belle couldn't say when she was able to get to her feet, but she staggered forward, now curious about the blotchy red stains on her hand. Where had they come from? What could she have been doing to dirty her hands so? They reminded her of when she and her mother painted together in the garden. Belle would mix the colors for them both, her hands becoming stained until they were a dingy brownish gray.

Looking around, she thought the present scenery would do quite nicely for a landscape. The colors were similar enough to the ones she usually preferred—all matted blues and greens and golds. Even the grays in the fog settling over the distant horizon would be pleasing…it would be easy to get lost in this vision of pale blues and greens that gave way to grays and browns. A lovely contrast. Her mother would approve.

The mottled stains on her hands wouldn't come off, no matter how hard she scrubbed them with dew from the tall sweet grass. But she didn't mind. Trying to clean them kept her mind free from twisted daggers and a slowly spreading pool of blood. She paused to pick some flowers, watching the creamy white petals turn a rusty red in her hands. Light from the dawn glowed in the distance, but it seemed to spin and tilt, along with blurry trees and whipping branches and everything else in view.

Slowly wandering over the fields and into town, Belle painted imaginary lines in the air, hoping the wind would carry her vision home.

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The Change

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Night on the edge of Storybrooke is artfully decorated by the natural and unnatural elements of the town. The ancient clock tower, floodlit and draped with wrought iron, is intensely medieval with its high arched windows and spire tower. It may almost be mistaken for a Gothic steeple soaring in the midnight sky.

This is where the change is first noted—a clock hand pushes itself forward, guided by an invisible force. The sleeping citizens pay no mind. To them, nothing has altered. For them, time marches on in a linear manner, unaffected by the elemental shifts in the atmosphere.

But soon the air shivers with anticipation as a dark power gathers at the town line. Shadows seem to dart and flee, flying as frantically as the bats chasing their prey through the starry sky. The wind picks up sharply, rattling the windowpanes of the sleepy households. The town line itself, given to fluctuations and sudden systemic changes in the fabric of time and space, slows its invisible current. Even the pale moonlight huddles low in the valleys of the black hills, waiting for a change to take place.

A crumpled body lies on the road. Dark matted hair and a bruised face conceal his sharply handsome features. A pool of blood, quite black in the starlight, might almost be taken for a fallen black flag, its thin material lapping in the cool sea air.

One moment passes. Then two. And then the blood around the body begins to recede; the way a tide returns to the open ocean—slowly at first, then steadily faster, drawing back into its source with a deliberate effort. Strange shadows creep out of the darkest corners of the forest, screeching through the woodland to circle and settle over the body like a death shroud.

The body, now no longer just a body, rises. He staggers to his feet and pays no mind to the howling shadows mending his mutilated form. The skin that was shredded and sliced is now forming itself anew—but this skin is clean and unmarked, free from the inky tattoos that once told the narrative of his previous life. The gaping holes in his throat and chest close, sealing themselves as quietly and secretly as a whisper. The shrunken heart, much used and much broken, begins to beat against his battered ribcage, pumping black blood to repair its new host.

His eyes flash a violent shade of green. His left hand, once lost forever, now forms itself. A sharp clatter cuts through the silence as his metal hook falls unceremoniously onto the pavement, forgotten the instant it hits the black road.

"There now…that's much better," he mutters, looking at his newly repaired hand. It bears an oddly-shaped scar around the wrist—one that resembles a walking cane, broken in half.

He reaches to his side and, with a heave, pulls out the dagger left behind by his predecessor. The skin closes as soon as the curved blade is removed. Despite the darkness overhead, he is able to make out part of a name taking shape on the twisted metal:

_Jones_

Now finished with their task, the shadows recede, drawing back into the places where moonlight dare not go. The town line trembles in the presence of this newcomer, and a force within it registers the change before regaining its steady current.

The Dark One studies at his legs, arms, and chest. He pats his injury-free neck and face. He also takes stock of his clothes, now repaired simply because he willed it so. His thoughts are chaotic, but he does feel a sense of relief rushing through him. His body, once racked with injury and bloodied, is now healed. His clothes, once sliced and torn, are mended. He takes a moment to tend to his dagger which he tucks safely in his jacket, out of sight of any onlooker.

These simple actions give him comfort, and soon he takes stock of his surroundings. Noticing the town sign, he studies it. A small ring of recollection sounds in the back of his mind.

_Storybrooke_. The name echoes louder and louder in his skull until it peals like the cry of church bells.

_Crocodile_. The unknown word suddenly falls from his lips, dripping with venom. _Swan_. This name also holds a secret significance. _Dark Curse. Belle. Savior..._ Little by little, stray pieces of himself return. He draws in words and images as easily as he draws in breath, but nothing is in its correct order. None of it holds any meaning for him. Nothing seems clear on this pitch black night.

He's not sure where he should go, but a small voice whispers that he must leave this place. He hesitates for a moment. He wishes to return home, but where is home? He's not even sure which direction will take him to safety. At last the road itself seems to guide him back to town, pulling him along an invisible current, weary of him but guiding him nonetheless. He makes his way in the darkness and hears whispers coming from a shadowed part of his mind. He pays no mind to them now, but knows they will press him until he answers their call.

He heads towards the light of the clock tower, seeking shelter from the coming storm.


	5. Chapter 5: Interlude

(An Interlude)

Inside Storybrooke's clock tower, a shabby bedroom had been constructed. The clock face let in a little light, casting the room in a dim amber hue. Gears framed the walls, covered in veils of cobwebs and grime. A cot sat in the corner, so low to the ground that dust gathered against its blankets. Nearby was a pile of ancient books with a strange language scribbled on the leather covers. Haphazard sketches scattered the floor—some of ships, others of swans. There was no rhyme or reason to the drawings. They were the castoffs of a preoccupied mind.

Sitting on his cot, Killian stared at the low flame over his open palm. A small fire danced in the air above his fingertips, an eerie green light shimmering within the heart of the blaze. He watched the flame leap and spin in an elegant ballet that he commanded without a word.

A figure emerged from the darkest part of the shadows, staring at Killian with wide eyes. "Dark One…what exactly do you think you're doing?"

Killian toasted his meal over the fire, waiting until the edges were brown before licking his fingers and dousing the flame. "Making something called an 'Eggo.' Strange sort of realm, isn't it? All the food looks like sports equipment."


	6. Chapter 6: Certain Souls Have Teeth

Chap 6: Certain Souls Have Teeth

His memories gone, Killian inherits the title of the Dark One and endures the rantings of Grim, his useless mentor. Emma and Killian have an unexpected reunion.

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"_They were buried in the old churchyard…they buried him beside her…_

_And out his heart grew a red red rose…and out of hers a brier."_

Killian hummed the Irish ballad, his low rich voice echoing through the empty tower. His eyes held an unnatural emerald sheen as he studied the Elfin scrolls laid out in front of him. For weeks he'd been trying to commit the ancient spells to memory, and was pleasantly surprised when his attempts produced the desired effect—a green cloud of smoke, a small cyclone of mist, a shower of silver flames…

Despite his interest in his budding talents, the Dark One's mind often wandered.

Killian had little idea who or what he was in his past life. His memories seemed to be lost to him. Occasionally an image floated up from the gloomy expanse of his mind, but it would just as quickly sink back into the briny depths. Out of the corner of his eye he'd suddenly see a shimmer of blonde hair and smell the vaguely familiar scent of cinnamon and chocolate. Each time he'd look up, hoping to catch sight of the vision, but it always vanished before he could.

He asked his companion about it several times, about the man he was before he ascended to the title of The Dark One. As usual the shadowy figure gave a confusing non-answer. Killian had taken to calling him _The Useless One_, although the ghoul had long-since introduced himself with the impossibly idiotic name _Grim_.

Even now, as Killian asked him about it, Grim waved him off, assuring him such information had no bearing on his new form.

"Memories of your former existence are no longer needed. The life you led is over. You must focus on the task ahead." Grim's voice echoed within the mass of glittering shadows that were always swirling around him.

Killian scowled and picked one of his sketches, the dust making the drawings dagger-gray and dingy. On one, a swan was ascending into a starry sky. He traced the hook-like curve of the swan's neck with his fingertip, trying his best to ignore his mentor.

Grim droned on: "Believe me, your memory is the last thing you should be relying on. That chapter is finished. Time to start a new story… You've been bequeathed the title of the Dark One and you must carry out the tasks appointed to you. The Reckoning is coming and you will be its right hand."

"Ugh… for fuck's sake… shut up," Killian muttered tiredly, rubbing his head. For a moment Killian considered chucking a heavy spellbook at Grim, but he knew it was pointless. Whatever this Grim creature was, he was just an illusion, an apparition who had been coming and going ever since Killian regained consciousness alone in the clock tower. Whenever Grim appeared, the only thing he talked about was the Call to Darkness and a Dark Purpose and many other ominous sounding tasks that sounded both boring and stupid.

Grim frowned. "I'm only here to help you achieve your true potential. Believe me, my services are invaluable. I helped others in their ascension to the title, and I have every intention of seeing you through to your Call to Darkness."

Killian sent him his most charming smile "…Or you could do us both a favor and leave me be. I'm sure I'll manage in this lovely little realm on my own. I'm hardly helpless." He gestured around him. "As you can see I've acquired some moderately comfortable accommodations, a decent supply of toaster waffles, and even a few books to hone my expanding talents. I think I'll get on quite nicely."

"You're not here to get on nicely!" The Useless One thrust his decaying face into Killian's. "You're here to do what I say. Otherwise, you will find yourself torn limb from limb as the local population makes short work of you."

"Why would they want to hurt me? Charming creature I am…"

"Because you're the Dark One! You already have powerful enemies and if you attack them now, you'll at least have the element of surprise. The populace will fall in line once you destroy their leadership. There's one person you'll have to eliminate immediately. She'll offer the most resistance."

"Well now that's not very neighborly of me," Killian frowned. "No… I'm not sure I intend to destroy anything or anyone. I'm a decent enough chap I think…perhaps I'll fit in nicely here. I'm already adapting to the local cuisine." He shook a box of Eggos, flashing the bright packaging against the gloom.

"You know nothing of these matters or of Storybrooke's realm. The people here won't welcome you. They'll _fear_ you. And they will stand in your way. Some of these creatures don't have the sense to accept inevitability—they'll put up a fight."

"Trust me, I can handle a fight." Killian got to his feet, stretching his strong, limber body. Silver flames hovered around him before floating like ashen snowflakes to the ground. "So who's this person you want destroyed?"

"They call her The Savior."

"Savior?" Killian shook his head. "That's a bit puffed up isn't it? And I thought calling myself Dark One would be embarrassing…_Savior_ is much worse."

"I assure you both names are quite accurate. And you won't be ready to face her if you keep mucking around with your pathetic drawings and breakfast waffles. Now practice again."

Killian's eyes glittered in the darkness. He took a deep breath and at once his body was engulfed in green fire. He stared at Grim through the glowing flames of the blaze, his voice low and menacing: "There now…will that do?"

From under his hood, Grim smiled darkly. "Oh yes. That will do quite nicely."

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The Day of Reckoning

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The day began much like any other. An early morning frost coated the streets as Ruby opened Granny's with a yawn, wiping down the counters and straightening menus. David dropped Snow off at the high school and hurried to the station, coffee cup precariously balanced against the steering wheel. Regina entered the mayor's office with the confidence of one who was born to the position and sorted through a stack of correspondence.

Shops along the town square slowly lit up, and "open" signs appeared in all the windows—in all but one. Gold's shop remained locked and ominously dark. Four weeks had passed since he disappeared. Whispers of his role in the disappearance of Killian Jones circulated amongst the townsfolk. The two people most affected by the event carried their burdens quite differently—Belle remained a mass of nerves in the hospital while Swan patrolled the town at night, carrying out her official duties with grave detachment.

The day began like any other. Until the Dark One appeared in the street.

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Killian surveyed the town square. It was his first real look at Storybrooke since he'd arrived in the realm. He took in the quaint shops, the candy-colored signs, the flickering streetlamps. He approved of this tidy hamlet nestled against the sea and wondered why the Dark One had been summoned to such a quiet little corner of existence.

As he strolled along the sidewalks, he began to notice the startled eyes and dumbstruck expressions of the passersby. "Great…they're staring at us," Killian said quietly to Grim, who was floating beside him, cloaked in a dark fog. "Why couldn't you leave the swirling cloud of doom at home and try to look like a sane person?"

"They're staring at _you_," Grim replied. "They can't see or hear me."

"Really? Aren't they the lucky ones? Makes me wild with envy," he muttered, giving a curt nod to a man walking his Dalmatian. The man stared back, nearly dropping his briefcase as his dog nipped at Killian's heels.

"Now where is this Savior person I'm meant to destroy?" Killian asked with a tone of distaste. A faint internal voice told him that killing someone his first day out would be "bad form indeed." But Call to Darkness and whatnot… he had a duty to his title.

"Don't worry, she'll find you. For now, just enjoy the scenery. You're master of all you survey. Everything you see is yours for the taking. No one can refuse you anything. That is how powerful you truly are."

"Wonderful." Killian glanced around, unimpressed. He'd rather be back at the clock tower with his sketches and toaster waffles. He couldn't imagine that he'd have use for a diner or a frame store or a thrift shop... Besides, what was the point of having limitless power if it made him act like total and complete git?

He heard a commotion behind him and turned just in time to see a tall brunette emerge from a purple cloud of smoke. She marched towards him, her dark eyes narrowed, her windswept hair flying behind her.

"Hook? What the hell!? We've been looking everywhere for you and you just stroll into town like you're the God-damn Pope."

"Um…no?" Killian answered uncertainly. He stared at her, taking in her well-cut suit and impossibly high heels. He turned to Grim: "Is she the one I'm supposed to destroy?"

"No Killian. That's the Mayor."

"Pity," Killian said with a grimace. "She's a bit rude if you ask me."

"Let her alone for now. She'll be useful to you later."

"I'm a bit what!" Regina glared at him. "I'm _rude_!? After everything you put me through Guyliner? I conjured up a dozen locator spells and wasted seven different potions just to find your worthless ass and now you…" she stopped mid-rant as Killian held up his hand. A green flame danced before her eyes just as she was sent hurdling through the air. She landed with a sickening thud amongst the onlookers, lying there stunned for a few moments before being helped to her feet.

"Sorry Mayor," Killian said with a sigh, "but I really don't have time for this. And…well…I don't want to listen to you anymore. Now be a good public servant and go fetch the Savior. She's the one I want to see. In fact…perhaps one of you fine citizens could help me." He turned to the sea of faces. "I'm looking for the one who calls herself _The Savior_. Now it can't be too common a name in these parts so I expect you know exactly who I mean."

He paused, waiting for a response from the staring crowd. "I'm not the most patient person in the realm, so a little assistance would be greatly appreciated."

A heavy silence still hovered over the townsfolk.

"All right then." Apparently everyone here was completely useless. He shook his head, wondering what his next move should be.

Grim leaned towards him. "Here…set fire to that diner. That'll get them talking."

"Do what?"

"Set fire to the diner. Or the police station. That'll loosen their tongues….oh there's an idea… just start cutting out people's tongues. That would send the message too."

"I'm not going to do any of those things. Especially that last one because it's bloody disgusting." Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Mayor sending a black mass of crackling energy his way. Killian caught it easily and tossed it back, wondering how she'd gotten herself elected with such shabby people-skills. She fell to the ground again, and he shook his head, wondering if he was going to waste the whole of the morning chasing after this Savior person.

"Okay…well…thank you anyway. While you sort it out amongst yourself, I'm going to eat my breakfast in the library and wait for her there. Please tell her to stop by if you see her. Nice meeting all of you. Enjoy your morning." He hopped off the sidewalk and into the crowd, who parted as he passed by.

"What are you doing?" Grim hissed, following him down the street.

"I'm going to the library. See…it's just below the clock tower. And no one's there because there's a giant 'closed' sign over the door. I'm walking there now and you're following me. Anything else you need explained?"

"You can't just walk away from this!"

"Walk away from what? This Savior person isn't here, the Mayor's no help at all, and I really don't think the townsfolk were very impressed with my introduction. All in all, it's been a fairly useless morning. And I'm hungry. Now piss off and let me eat my breakfast in peace."

Grim disappeared in a cloud of fiery embers as Killian threw open the library doors with a wave of his hand. Behind him, people were muttering and several had their cell phones out, already flooding the police lines.

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Emma studied the broken doors of the library. A crowd had gathered around her as she stared into the darkened space. David stood close by, his hand on his holster. Regina was beside him, eyes burning black with fury.

"Are you sure it was it was Killian?" Emma asked for the hundredth time, her hollow eyes wide and disbelieving.

"I'm telling you, Guyliner's in there. He just waltzed in as if he owned the place," Regina scowled, rubbing the bruises on her arm.

"And he used magic on you?"

Regina glowered. "Yes…very powerful magic. And very dark. I don't know what happened to him, but he's climbed out of the rabbit hole a very different person."

Emma's mind raced. He was alive. He was here, but it wasn't Killian…not really… none of it made sense. She frowned and strode towards the swinging doors.

"What are you doing?" David demanded.

"I'm just going to talk to him. He asked for me, right?"

Regina frowned. "He asked for The Savior. He doesn't seem to know who that is. Or who I am…or anything about Storybrooke really. "

"Well there's only one way to find out what he wants." She patted her father's arm reassuringly. "I'll be careful. I'll call you if I need any help…but I have to see him. Trust me, I can handle Killian."

The heavy double doors swung open easily, and Emma gasped as she surveyed the destruction around her. Shelves had been knocked over, piles of books and papers lay haphazardly on the floor, chairs were scattered everywhere…it was as if a small cyclone had touched down within the confines of the four walls. Overhead, the florescent bulbs gave off a pale green hue, flickering against the shadows of the dimly lit space.

"Killian?" Emma called, her voice low and cautious.

A soft chuckle rang out from the darkness. "Savior…is that you? About bloody time… Mind the mess, will you? I was just warming up while I waited."

She followed the sound of his voice, stepping over piles of debris, trying to peer into the shadows around her.

"That's it. Right here…getting closer…I'm by the periodicals…"

She turned the corner and her hand flew to her mouth.

It was Killian, there was no doubt about it. He was clean shaven, and his hair was shorter and slightly spiky…but it was him. He was sitting on a table, sporting his modern leather jacket and usual all-black clothes. An orange soda sat beside him along with a stack of smoldering magazines. As he studied her, his eyes glowed green against the gloom.

He looked her over approvingly. "Oh my, my, my… Aren't we a lovely little thing? I didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't the likes of you."

Emma's heart beat heavily in her chest. She stared at him, almost missing the low green flames flickering around his fingertips. "What…where have you been?"

He tilted his head as if confused by the question. "I've been here, eating breakfast. Waiting for you…Why? Where have you been?"

"Um…Asleep…I've been working nights."

"Ah," he said vaguely. "Sounds nice."

She shook her head, trying to make sense of the scene. Over the last four weeks, she'd imagined over and over again what she'd say to him if they found him alive…how she'd run up to him, throw her arms around him, kiss him senseless… But so far the reality came nowhere near to what she'd pictured.

"Killian what happened to you? Where did you go?"

"I didn't go anywhere…I've been here, eating a fruit cup. It's quite good actually. Wasn't sure I'd give it a try, but I'm really pleased with it." He helped himself to a spoonful. "It's pineapple. Is that a popular sort of food around here?"

She nodded slowly.

"Good. This place just keeps getting better and better. First waffles and pineapples and now a vision of loveliness turns up out of the gloom…truly, you are beautiful…It's a shame I have to kill you." He winked. "I can think of much more pleasant ways to spend our time."

"Kill me? What are you talking about? You're not making any sense."

"I know. None of it makes sense." He sighed and explained in a detached voice: "Now let me see if I've got this right…I've recently ascended to the title of The Dark One. To mark the Day of Reckoning, I was ordered to destroy the one they call the Savior. With her death, I would clear a path for the dominance of the realm and assume the position of power which is rightly mine." He scratched his head. "Or something like that."

"What are you saying? You're the Dark One now?"

He shrugged. "Apparently. And it's the Day of Reckoning—whatever that is. And the Savior's to die. Oh wait…you are The Savior, aren't you?"

She nodded.

"All right. So let's get to it, shall we?" He stretched and stood up, that's when she noticed his hand.

"Wait, your hand is back? How did that happen..." She stepped towards him and immediately felt a wave of pain. A green light flashed before her eyes and she landed hard on the floor several feet away.

"Nice try Lovely." He smiled, stalking towards her. "But I'm afraid you'll have to do a little better than that…a lot better in fact."

She rolled away, leaping to her feet in a single fluid movement. Without hesitating, she sent a wall of white energy towards him, throwing him backwards against a shelf of books.

"Killian!" She started to rush to his side, but her feet stayed firmly in place. She knew she had to keep her distance, at least until she could figure out what the hell was going on. She reached for her phone and found only an empty pocket. It must have flown off during her fall. Emma heard him groan and get to his feet. She ducked into a nearby aisle, watching him through a shelf of books.

"That's more like it," he said with a rakish grin. It was a look she recognized—he always flashed it just before heading into a good fight. The air around them crackled with an intense energy as green flames licked the ceiling and blackened a nearby pile of books.

She listened to his footsteps, flattening herself against the shelf, hoping the shadows would conceal her long enough to think of a plan. She concentrated and sent a dozen chairs flying across the room at him, wanting to distract him long enough the reach the front doors.

The chairs clattered to the ground as the lights overhead flickered and died. He gave an amused chuckle, his voice low and very close: "Hmmm…now where can you be?"

She heard a sudden movement and the heavy shelf of books in front of her began toppling toward her. She dove out of the way just before it crashed to the floor.

"You know…" he said, suddenly kneeling beside her. "This really isn't going to be much fun unless you put a little effort into it."

She gasped as he grabbed her collar, lifting her off the ground. "Killian…don't…" she choked out "…don't…"

He lowered her face to his. "Call me Dark One," he snarled as he tossed her aside.

She felt her shoulder crack as she collided against a heavy desk. A gash across her forehead dripped with blood and a faint metallic taste tinged her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes as she sensed him closing in. She shut her eyes, trying to concentrate, trying to harness her energy, but nothing happened. White light flickered and died at the end of her fingertips, and she couldn't lift her right arm to conjure a shield.

He approached her steadily, the debris fanning out in front of him. "Not that I'm fond of the name, mind you, but it seems I've inherited the title and I can't really avoid it now. Besides, there are worse things to be called…_Savior_ for instance. Don't know how I'd leave the house with a name like that."

In a fog of agony he gripped her injured shoulder, the bone cracking under her skin as he hauled her to her feet. "Is that it then? That's all the fight I'm to expect? I'm fairly disappointed in you Savior. Not much of a match for me, are you?"

She felt his fingers curl around her throat. "Killian," she choked out "…please…don't…" She clutched at him, raking her nails along his hand. Black blood swelled up from the cuts and stained her palm, but he paid no mind to the pain.

"Such a waste," he muttered, his free hand taking a strand of her blonde hair between his fingertips.

"Stop…Killian…" She reached for him and managed to grab the back of his head, pulling his hair as her world slowly went dark.

He stared at her a moment. His grip loosened around her neck as a flicker of recognition flashed across his face. "Swan?" he muttered almost too quietly to hear.

Emma found herself falling to the floor as he released her. She hit the ground with a thud and suddenly she could breathe again. She clasped her throat, relieved by the air rushing into her burning lungs. Choking and coughing, she hunched over, trying to catch her breath, watching him with a mixture of dread and confusion.

"Swan?" He stared at her. "Is that your name?"

She nodded, still clasping her throat.

He grabbed her hand, now bloody and shaking. He examined it closely, uncertainty clouding his features. His eyes stopped glowing and the green energy swirling around him stilled. The crackling intensity in the air died away until the room was dark and silent again.

"You're Emma Swan," he muttered. "Emma Swan is the Savior." He knelt down and lifted her into his arms.

"Wait…don't…" she fought him weakly, trying to free herself.

"Hush Lovely…I'm not gonna hurt you." He set her gently on a table and brushed the matted blonde hair from her face as he stared into her eyes. "You knew me…didn't you? Before I changed, you knew me." He shook his head. "You knew me as the man I was."

She nodded weakly, the pain in her throat and shoulder was making her lightheaded. She looked around for something, anything she could use as a weapon…

"We're not enemies at all, are we? Dammit Grim, what the hell are you playing at?" he murmured as he ran his hand over her shoulder. She could feel the shattered bone heal and take shape as the pain dulled.

His fingertips traced her face and raised her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. He spoke in a low voice: "This was all terribly rude of me…I'm sorry for having imposed on you like this. Forgive me." He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss against her trembling wrist.

Without another word, he disappeared in a shadow of black smoke, leaving her amongst the charred ruins and her own shaky confusion.


	7. Chapter 7: Shadow and Fog

Chapter 7: Shadows and Fog

Emma and Killian meet again. Read/review please. I own nothing.

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_Okay, what the hell was that? What the hell…what the hell…what the hell…?_

Emma rocked back and forth on Killian's bed, staring through the windows overlooking the bay. After stalking out of the ruins of the library, she'd waved off David's and Regina's questions. She pushed past the crowd of onlookers and headed back to Killian's apartment, muttering curses as wisps of white energy crackled over her fingertips.

She knew she'd have to eventually talk to her parents, describe her injuries, explain who caused them and why. But sitting alone in the shadows, only one thought registered—Killian had returned. After weeks of living under layers of dark sorrow and dying hope, she had seen him. He had survived. He had come back to her (he had also tried to kill her, but that smallish detail didn't lessen her own private victory). The cruel irony of the situation was tunneling just under the surface, and she trembled on the verge of laughing at it, or crying about it. She found herself biting her lip the way she often did when fighting back tears.

Now, curled against his pillow, she stared absently out the window and watched the harbor below. It was December, a month of dangerous tides and sharp winds. Jagged clouds fanned out over the gray sheets of water. White foaming crests peaked in the breeze and dotted the ocean like rows of teeth. Afternoon turned to evening and eventually the sun disappeared altogether, taking with it the faint light of the winter sunset.

Staring at a colorless sky, Emma realized she was not alone. The air shifted around her and a shadow emerged from the darkest corner of the room.

"Killian?" she asked softly.

Green eyes glowed above a shy smile. "Hello Lovely."

She climbed to her feet. "What are you doing here? Did you follow me?"

"Of course I did." Killian stepped into the fading light, looking around the room with interest.

She began to back away slowly. Her hand covered the bruises on her throat as she eased away from him. She felt the paneled glass behind her and unlocked the door to the balcony, calculating the jumping distance to the ground.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned softly. "The fall would kill you before I'd ever get the chance."

She gripped the door handle as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the bed.

"Nice place," he said offhandedly, looking around the small apartment. "Live here alone?"

"Um…not really." She watched as he opened the closet and ran his hand over the collection of black clothes. He then looked over the dresser, the nightstand, even poked his head into the bathroom, all without saying a word, all without even acknowledging her.

After a minute of this, he turned to her with a questioning look on his face. "You don't live here at all, do you?"

"Wh…what?"

"You don't live here—men's clothes in the closet, nothing of yours in the bathroom or on the dressers. This isn't your apartment."

"No it's not," she hesitated, feeling a flutter of embarrassment. "It's yours."

"Mine?" He gave an appreciative glance around. "Bit nicer than the clock tower, isn't it?"

"Clock tower? Is that where you've been hiding?"

"Wouldn't say 'hiding' really. 'Keeping well out of the way' is how I'd describe it."

She took a small step away from the door, the knob still resting against the back of her hand.

"Does anything look familiar?"

Frowning, he shook his head.

"Here…what about this?" Suicide-leap from the balcony put aside, she went to the dresser and pointed to the stack of doubloons. "You brought these back from…well…I don't know where, but you have a stockpile of them somewhere."

"After my money, are you?" He chuckled and picked up a gold coin, studying it closely before tossing it back on the dresser. "I've never seen anything like it before."

Disappointed, she led him to the desk and showed him the sailboats sketches. He flipped through them, reading the calculations. He traced the lines of the masts and hulls with his fingertip, but his expression remained blank.

"What about this?" She handed him the copy of _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_. "You wrote notes in the margins. You seemed to like it." She pointed to the swirls of handwriting and he skimmed through the pages, rereading his notes. As he studied the book, she realized how close she was to him—his broad shoulders brushing hers, her hand resting on his forearm… It surprised her how much she craved Killian's closeness, even if he was complete stranger to her. The apartment was now lit only by the moonlight, but the room had come alive again; _she_ was alive again. Her black heartache had burned itself into ash. The shadows had receded. Even the darkness of the nightfall couldn't reach her now.

She closed her eyes, savoring his closeness. When she opened them, he was staring at her with a puzzled look on his face.

"Are you all right, Lovely?"

She nodded, blushing as she eased away from him.

He set the book on the nightstand and shrugged. "That's my handwriting, but I don't remember reading it."

"How about the view?" She gestured to the wide windows. The dock lights had come on and green-tinted lamps flickered over the black water of the bay. Stars were beginning to emerge in the overcast sky, their light caught in the movements of the waves.

He stood next to her, the back of his hand brushing against hers. "No… it doesn't look familiar either." He gave her a small smile. "It's pretty though. Guess I see the appeal."

"What do you remember? Back in the library you tried to…you tried to…"

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," he said gently. "It won't happen again. At least I _think_ it won't happen again..."

"But you stopped yourself. You said my name…you recognized me."

He took a strand of her blonde hair between his fingertips and stared at it. The feathery ends turned white in the emerging moonlight. "Not really. The name Emma Swan just came to me and I realized that you were someone I shouldn't be hurting. Shouldn't _ever_ be hurting," he added with a dark look.

"But how? What made you remember?"

He tucked the strand behind her shoulder and turned to face her, his hand finding her own. She felt the soft impression of his fingertips against her wrist.

"May I?" he asked.

She nodded, wordlessly watching as he guided her hand to the back of his head. She ran her fingers through his dark hair, her eyes locked with his.

"That mean anything to you?"

She lowered her eyes and nodded. How many times had she done this? Before, when she was with Killian, her hands always seemed to tangle in the soft locks of his hair; when they kissed, held each other, even just sat next to each other. Whenever they were alone, her hand would find its way up along his shoulders and stroke the back of his neck. He never said anything about it, but she remembered how he'd always lean into her touch, enjoying this small caress that seemed so innocently intimate.

"I used to…when…when we were…" her voice wavered and she pulled her hand away as if burned by the contact. How was she going to explain this to him? "Before you disappeared… before you were the Dark One…" she trailed off when words wouldn't come and tears welled in her eyes.

"I also remember this." He took her hand and opened her palm. "You hurt yourself."

"My hand is fine."

"No, it was cut. I wrapped it for you and poured something on it. Alcohol, I think."

"At the giant's castle." The memory made her smile. "You said it was a waste of rum."

"Did I? My sincerest apologies..."

She watched with wide eyes as he slowly raised her hand, pressing a kiss into her open palm. Their eyes locked and she let out a choked sob as she stepped into his arms. She buried her face in his chest, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. "I'm sorry…I know you don't…you don't…" _…don't know me…don't have any idea of who I am or why I'm doing this and are probably going to vanish in a cloud of smoke any second now…_she finished the sentence silently, wondering how something that felt so right could be so damaged.

"Everything's so…so unbelievably screwed up," she said at last, her voice muffled as she held him.

"Now that's hardly an attitude befitting the Savior," he chuckled, stroking her head affectionately. It was something Killian, _her_ Killian would say. "I thought you hero-types were supposed to be beacons of light and hope…No matter how stupid it made you look."

"Shut up," she muttered. Before she could stop herself, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. The kiss lasted only a moment before he pulled away, obviously caught off-guard.

Color crept in her face as she took a step back. "I'm …I'm sorry…I didn't mean…" but before she could stammer out an apology, he took her in his arms, bringing her flush against him. Her breath caught in her throat as he cupped her face and kissed her deeply, her lips parting under his as he tasted her. Her hands tangled in his hair as he lifted her to him, their kisses quickly becoming jagged and desperate. She wrapped her arms around him, losing herself to the feel of him against her. It was something she never thought she'd experience again, something she'd wanted since the moment he disappeared.

The intensity in the air grew. Sudden pinpoints of energy began to spark and crackle around them. A shadowy fire flickered to life, its black flames reflected in the dark glass of the window.

"Killian," she muttered with a sigh as he kissed his way down her throat. She gripped his collar, holding him impossibly closer as the air swirled with the heat of their contact and glittering flames from a ghostly fire slowly circled them.

"Emma…" she heard her name but it was coming from far away…far, far away…by the front door.

"Emma." This time it was followed by a round of loud knocking. "Emma are you in there?"

She pulled away, fighting to catch her breath, fighting to gain some semblance of control over her lost voice and shaking legs. The humming energy around them stilled and soon the only noise she could hear was her own heavy heartbeat and the banging on the apartment's door.

"I'm okay," she called breathlessly. "I'm fine. Just a minute." She straightened her shirt, then his, and felt a blush burning its way into her cheeks.

His arms were still around her, steadying her. He was watching her with an amused expression. "Friends of yours?"

"Not anymore."

He chuckled as she ran her hands through her hair.

"I'd better…I'd better answer that."

He took a step back. "Of course."

The banging on the door increased. "Emma, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she called. She turned to Killian. "Just stay… here…wait…" She glanced around. He was gone. No cloud of black smoke, no crackling energy. He'd just vanished.

_Okay...um...so that solves one problem..._Still trying to catch her breath, she opened the door.

"Emma!" Her mother rushed into the room and enfolded her in a suffocating hug. "You weren't answering your phone."

"I don't know where it is...but I'm fine...I'm fine," she stammered, watching her father who was standing in the doorway. She could almost read his thoughts: _I tried to keep her away as long as I could._

Snow studied her daughter's bruises. "That bastard. I can't believe Hook did that." She narrowed her eyes the way she did when she had a target in her sights.

"Yeah, it's complicated," Emma said weakly, cringing at the thought of having to defend Killian's violence. There was no excuse for it…_Except maybe his memory loss and brainwashing by the forces of_ _Darkness_, she thought to herself.

Her parents worried and fretted about her wounds, all the while questioning her, wanting to know about the fight, Killian's new-found powers, how she managed to escape…

All Emma could do was mutter a series of feeble "I don't knows" over and over again. Something dark and sinister had taken over Killian, yes, but he was still here, still alive, still hers in a way.

It was something she couldn't explain to them, to anyone really. It was something she hardly understood herself. All she knew was that she wanted to help Killian. She had to help him. His memories were so close to the surface. She just hoped she could bring them to light before the darkness he was battling consumed him completely.

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The clock face was shining its round amber light when Killian collapsed on his cot. The shadows around him shimmered as he buried his face in his hands. The day had not gone according to plan. Nothing had gone according to plan…

"Hello there." Startled, he looked over to find the Useless One sitting next to him on the bed, his reptile eyes burning red against the gloom.

Killian angrily leapt to his feet. "Bloody hell Grim!? You know, if you're going to keep popping in and out of my hovel, we're going to have to establish some ground rules. Rule one—no climbing into bed with me (I almost feel like I shouldn't have to make that a rule). And two—No Climbing Into Bed With Me!"

Grim rose and bowed. "Fair enough. What about my expectations? Like say, your duty to destroy the Savior and dominate the realm while you still can?"

"Oh well…the difference between what you want and what I want is that my demand is perfectly reasonable while yours is _bat-shit crazy_. I'm not going to kill Swan. She and I…we're…" he struggled to explain. "We're the same. Different uppity names, _Dark One_ and _Savior_, but cut from the same cloth. And certainly not enemies as you would have me believe."

"I never said you were enemies. I said she'd oppose you, and she will. Your task was a simple one and you failed. You did not heed the Call."

Killian shrugged. "Well I suppose the Darkness is doomed for all eternity. Sorry mate, that one's on me."

"No apology is necessary. But perhaps next time you could complete your mission as directed."

Killian's eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to hurt Swan…Don't bring it up again."

Grim watched him through glittering darkness. "Answering the Call to Darkness is your purpose. You may resist it, but you'll never be free of it. And if you think you and the Savior are indeed 'cut from the same cloth' you couldn't be more mistaken. Mark my words, when the Savior sees you for who you really are, she'll have no choice but to align against you. You may not be _enemies_…but remember, no matter how strong the bond between the two of you, she'll be the one to bring about your destruction."

"Well Grim, you've been wrong about everything so far, and pretty much a fuck-wit in general. So you'll have to excuse me if I chance it."

From within his mass of swirling shadows, the hooded figure bowed and began to fade. As much as Killian hoped he was gone for good, he knew Grim would be back. And something inside warned him that Grim was more right about the Savior than he'd like to admit.

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	8. Chapter 8: By the World Forgetting

Chap 8: By The World Forgetting, By The World Forgot

Killian and Emma deal with his memory loss. For his is truly the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

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At dawn, Emma hovered at the foot of the winding staircase. The upper-level of the clock tower was just within view. From where she stood, Emma could make-out the glowing face of the clock and the shadow of gears through the grated floors.

"Killian?" She called, climbing the steel-framed staircase.

After her parents had left the apartment, she'd spent the night pacing round the room. The dark despair and hopelessness that had plagued her these past few weeks were gone, but in their place remained a dozen questions. For hours she fought the urge to race to the clock tower and demand answers. Instead, she spent a good portion of the night not-in-any-way-shape-or-form remembering the way he took her in his arms, brought her lips to his, and gave her a series of searing kisses that burned right through her…

_Dammit, _she muttered, making her way up the staircase_. What the hell am I doing? I did __not__ think this through…this is stupid…thoroughly stupid going to see Killian like this. Stupid sexy Killian…No! Not sexy at all…God this was a bad idea…a very very very bad idea…_

She stared into the dimly-lit space. The amber clock face shone as wide and round as the moon, casting the bedroom in its faint yellow light. Books were piled high in the corners and a box of fruit cups sat by a small window.

Against the opposite wall lay a cot, with the Dark One's sleeping form draped over it.

"Killian?" she whispered, surprised to catch him sleeping. Did the Dark One even _need_ to sleep? She couldn't remember anyone mentioning Gold's sleeping habits and briefly wondered if Dark Ones were as unique in their habits as evil queens, or dwarfs, or pixies.

She stood awkwardly at the top of the staircase, watching him. She was amazed to realize she'd never seen him sleep before.

Though her common sense screamed at her to leave the man in peace, she quietly crossed the room and knelt at his side. Emma couldn't help herself. She stared, fascinated as the moonlight cast an amber-colored shadows over his unlined face. Reaching out, her fingertips grazed the soft locks of his black hair. The spiky ends brushed against her fingers, their silken feel making her shiver despite the warm flush in her cheeks. Her hand then took on a life of its own as it repeated the action, tracing a feathery line down his cheek and along his strong jaw. Her thumb brushed over his bottom lip, and she felt the sharp intake of his breath.

She caught the green glint of his eyes just before he grabbed the hand that was tracing his features.

"Couldn't keep away, could you Lovely?" Even though his eyes were drowsy, he managed a wink. She snatched her hand back, more embarrassed than surprised.

Stifling a yawn, he sat up and stretched. As the blanket fell away, she noticed his shirt was open and parted. The outline of his strong sculpted chest was half-hidden by the moonlight. A hint of stubble shadowed his jaw, and his black hair was scruffy from his pillow.

Before her common sense could stop her, she eased towards him. She leaned in slowly until her lips caught his, brushing softly against them. His eyes opened wider, reflecting the shadowy light of the room. He cupped her face as she kissed him gently, almost painfully slow. Her mouth parted and she dipped her tongue against his. The contact lasted only a moment, but it sent an electrical trill through her. With a sigh she pulled away, putting some much needed distance between them.

"Now there's a nice way to wake up," he muttered as he stared at her through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Good morning," she said shyly.

"Good morning Lovely." He gave a sleepy smile and began buttoning his shirt.

She backed away from the bed and looked around the room. The sunrise was shining through the clock face, bringing the scattered objects into view. "So this is where you've been. You were in the clock tower the whole time."

The sketches scattered on the floor caught her eye. She knelt down and studied the various swans and ships on the scraps of parchment.

"Good thing I'm the Dark One…never could earn my keep as an artist." Yawning, he climbed to his feet.

Setting aside the drawings, she made her way towards the books. All were heavy and leather-bound, with strange symbols on the covers. She opened one and flipped through the pages. Swirls and diagrams covered the parchment in strange languages.

"They're spells love," he explained. "You know, magical nonsense. Elfin curses and so forth. Fairly standard stuff. Most of it's bloody useless if you ask me."

"Where did you get them?"

"Just conjured them up. I've been getting good at that." He grinned. "Seems whenever I want something, it just appears."

She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't conjured up. I walked here. On my own."

"I'm sure you did Lovely. After all," he gestured to himself, "how could you stay away?"

"Oh my God…" she bit her lip, trying not to laugh. It was something Killian…_her_ Killian would say. She wanted throw her arms around him, or throw something blunt and heavy at him, but she resisted both urges. "I actually came here to ask you some questions."

He gave a slight bow. "I'm at your service."

"How did you find your way here…to the clock tower?"

"I'm not sure. I followed a road and saw something bright and pretty… I wasn't really cognizant of my situation at the time. I just woke up here and thought it best to keep out of the way until I got my bearings." He shrugged. "And that's all I remember."

"Do you have the dagger?"

He tilted his head and paused a moment before answering. "Yes."

"Did you hide it?"

"I did." As he answered, his expression darkened. _He's waiting for me to ask where the dagger is... _she thought to herself_. He thinks I want the dagger… _She could feela tension fill the air between them as he stared at her. She could feel his eyes studying her, watching her closely, suspiciously. It was a look she hadn't seen on his face since they first met. It pained her to see him like that. Like she was a stranger who was out to hurt him…to use him…

"Good," she replied steadily. "Keep it hidden. Don't tell anyone where it is. Whoever has the dagger can control you."

"So I've heard." He watched her for a moment, turning her reply over in his mind. "Although… that could be fun, given the right circumstances." He winked and gave a sly grin.

"Oh dear God…" she rolled her eyes and the tension eased. How had so much changed and yet so much stayed the same? "Do you remember how you became the Dark One?"

"No idea. And based on what I've read, I'm not entirely sure I want to."

"Oh," she replied softly, not knowing what to say to that.

"But speaking of remembering…" he ran his fingers through his hair. As he did, she noticed his stubble vanish and the lopsided spikes settle into place "…I was thinking of heading down to those docks you showed me."

"Why? Did you see something that looked familiar?"

"Something did catch my eye. Though who the hell knows what… I thought I might look around a bit. See if I recognize something."

"I'd better go with you."

He shook his head as he shrugged on his jacket. "There's no need for that. If it turns out to be nothing I don't want to waste your time."

"It's not a waste of time." She crossed the room until she was standing in front of him. "Killian, I've been looking for you for weeks. You have no idea what you put me through. I thought…I thought you were…gone."

"Gone?"

She nodded slowly, swallowing hard as she suppressed a shaky sigh.

"Well, I'm not gone. Actually I find I'm making myself quite at home." He brought her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss against it. "Very much so in fact," he added softly, pulling her closer.

Her eyes drifted shut as his lips fluttered against hers. He dotted her face with light kisses, the bruises on her throat disappeared as he ran his fingers along the discolored marks. "I swear I'll never hurt you like that again, Lovely." She felt him grin against the soft skin of her neck. "Unless you ask me to."

She pulled away, ready to swat at him, but he caught her arms and brought his mouth against hers for a scorching kiss. She returned it fiercely, gripping his collar and pulling him impossibly closer. Their lips brushed roughly, possessively, in a series of breathless, bruising kisses. His arms snaked around her waist, lifting her until she was flush against him. His mouth opened under hers and she groaned as their kiss deepened and a shiver of pleasure shook her senses. She could feel the hard planes of his chest against her own soft curves, felt the heat of their contact building up between them as they began to move in an unconscious rhythm against each other.

Something flared and burned deep as a light began to dance in front of her eyes. A green and white flame blazed to life in an iridescent display overhead, crackling and snapping with a dangerous intensity.

_Nowaitstopstop no wait too much stop wait stop wait no stop_…an internal warning sounded until she broke away. Gasping, she rested her head on his shoulder, her arms still around him, his lips against her throat. The air around them quieted as the ghostly flames now shimmered faintly in the shadowy corners.

"Probably best if you don't accompany me Lovely. I'm not likely to get anything done if you're around," he muttered, running his hands through her hair.

She nodded and took a step back, putting some much needed space between them, hating to agree with him but hating the distance between them more.

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At the dock

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Displaying itself in a series of stone grays and blues, the sea stretched like silk across the bay. Along the horizon, sails and clouds overlapped in series of swirls barely visible against the white winter sky.

Killian ambled along the seashore. The winter wind howled around him, announcing his presence with an eerie wail. If anyone were nearby, they would have felt a chill up their spine, and may have found a reason to head indoors…

But the beach and the docks were quiet and empty. No one came to the shoreline this time of year, as there was nothing to welcome beachgoers except tangles of black seaweed and sharp rocks lurking in the shallows.

"_Our boots and clothes are all in pawn …_

_Go down, you blood red roses, go down._

_It's mighty drafty 'round Cape Horn …_

_Go down, you blood red roses, go down."_

He sang the tune absently, taking a moment to enjoy the scenery and the solitude. Swan had met her parents and Regina for breakfast, and Grim was still gone, off doing whatever half-rotten ghouls did. Both of which made his trek a little easier. He wanted to explore the town on his own, without Swan, without Grim, without a mob of angry villagers chasing him with pitchforks and torches.

Approaching the docks, he paused a moment, wondering what had attracted his attention the night before. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a single piling beneath the dock's ancient skeletal structure. Stripped and splintered, the bleached wood was the color of bones and around it was a silver sturdy chain and a padlock.

"This…I know this. I was here. " Killian knelt, taking the chain in his hand and studying it. He tried to think back, tried to summon the memory—a flurry of snowflakes shimmering like broken glass, a dark cloud on the horizon, the click of the padlock, the cold metal against his skin and then…nothing.

He'd chained himself to this piling. But why? And how did he escape?

"Dammit, what the hell does any of it mean?" He threw the padlock aside, wondering at the irony of it—how he could summon anything he wished, but not his memories, nor any semblance of the man he used to be.

He stared at the sharply breaking waves as if they could answer him. The water had turned brackish and black against the gathering storm clouds. Dead leaves were caught in the waves, half-hidden by the gnarled masses of seaweed. The discolored mass rolled over and over again against the shoreline, looking like blonde tendrils of tangled hair. Nearby a large sign greeted bathers, presenting a list of rules about beach behavior.

"Welcome to Storybrooke Dock," he read the sign aloud. Someone had crossed off the 'k" and scrawled—_Happy, Sneezy, Grumpy, Sleepy, Dopey, Bashful_. It was a sad attempt at fairytale humor.

"Thank you. I do feel welcome." Startled, he turned to see Grim's decaying face and hooded cloak emerge from a flurry of shadows.

"Wonderful. My day is now complete."

"It's nice to be so appreciated."

Killian smiled and motioned towards the beach. "Are you here for some sea bathing? What fun! Don't tell me you're wearing a bathing suit under the swirling cloud of doom today? You know, if I had your complexion, I'd be worried about freckling…or bursting into flames."

"I just came to see how you were. Picking up the pieces of your memory, are you? How's that going?"

"Incredibly well, thank you."

"Somehow I doubt that." Grim motioned for Killian to follow him. The two fell into step as they walked along the shoreline.

"And here I thought you had abandoned me to my own ends."

Grim smiled from under his hood. "Unfortunately, you'll never be rid of me entirely."

"Awww. I'll bet you say that to all the Dark Ones."

Grim ignored him. "…Tell me, have you thought perhaps there's a reason you lost your memories when you ascended to the title?"

"As a matter of fact, I didn't."

"That's not surprising, given the amount of thought you've put into everything else you've done so far. You should take this opportunity and consider your unfortunate situation."

"What unfortunate situation? That I'm fiendishly handsome, all powerful and utterly charming? Yes. It's very unfortunate. I just might cry myself to sleep tonight."

Grim shook his head. "No. The tragedy is that you don't understand what an advantage it is—not having the burden of your past hanging over you. Now you're free of the pain, of the loss, and of the hate that haunted you for centuries. I would consider this a gift, and treat it as such."

"A gift… not knowing who I am? Really? I can think of ten better gifts, and numbers 1 through 9 involve watching you explode in a variety of ways."

"Very amusing…but just consider, if you regain your memories, you'll become the man you once were. A vengeful, selfish villain. Your chains as the Dark One are heavy enough, do you really want the added burden of centuries of pain and disappointment? Right now, you have a clean slate. Your destiny is your own and your power is unlimited. Why risk it?"

"That may be true," Killian chuckled darkly. "But it doesn't matter, does it? Nothing's coming back. Except for a few useless visions, I don't remember anything. My slate is still clean. Spotless, as a matter of fact."

"And I can help you keep it that way." Grim waved a skeletal hand and a crystal vial suddenly fell to Killian's feet. He knelt down and picked it up, wiping away the grains of sand sticking to the clear cut glass.

"Drink me." Killian read the inscription on the label. "Oh good. Thanks for the instructions. Otherwise I would've flung it in my eyes and hoped for the best."

Grim gestured to the potion. "Drink it and your memories will never return. Your hate, anger, and heartbreak will remain in the past where they belong."

Killian shook the vial, watching the violet liquid simmer and hiss. "So, if I take this, I'll never be the man I was?"

"No…you'll be _free_ of the man you were. Free of the disappointment that condemned you to darkness. Free of the desperation that haunted you for hundreds of years. Believe me—sometimes ignorance is a gift. And this realm was made for people who aren't cursed with self-awareness."

Killian shook his head and began to hand the vial back to Grim.

Grim waved him away. "All I ask is that you consider it. You and your Savior have a better chance for happiness without your past hanging over you. The man you were is best forgotten. Look to your future. Your past can only bring you pain." He bowed and faded, leaving Killian alone on the desolate beach.

He studied the violet liquid swirling in the vial. The potion caught the sunlight and sent amethyst-colored flecks over the gray sand. Nearby the black waves broke over the shoreline. Ice had formed over the sharp rocks rising out of the shallow water. The ice's jagged edges glistened in the faint sunlight, but it was already starting to melt. It would soon fall to pieces in the light of day.

It occurred to him that memories, like sunlight, can tear things apart. Perhaps in this case, the darkness had its uses.


	9. 9: Eternal Sunshine And Spotless Minds

Chapter 9: Eternal Sunshine And Spotless Minds

While Killian searches the docks, Emma breaks the news about the new Dark One to her family. Killian comes to a decision about Grim's potion.

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Sitting in their usual booth at Granny's, Regina, David and Snow all stared at Emma as she calmly explained the change in Killian. Around them the breakfast crowd was buzzing and chatting and stirring restlessly. Plates and forks clattered as orders were shouted over the noise. The cappuccino machine guzzled and fumed. Ruby's heels clipped over the tiled floor and the cash register tolled loudly from its corner.

The Dark One's reappearance had done little to dampen the town's enthusiasm for greasy, overcooked food and strong coffee.

"So now Guyliner's the Dark One?" Regina repeated, staring at Emma.

Emma nodded and sipped her coffee.

"And that's why he attacked you…because he's the Dark One?"

Emma nodded a second time.

"_The_ Dark One?"

"Regina, why do you keep repeating his name? Are you trying to summon him?" She ignored Regina's you-shall-be-disemboweled stare. "Yes, he's the Dark One now. Gold is gone and somehow Killian took his place."

David frowned. "How did this happen? And why would this happen?"

Emma shook her head. "I don't know."

"Well, where's Gold now?" Snow asked.

"I don't know."

Regina gave a sharp laugh. "So what do you know? What exactly did you two talk about this morning? Or did you _talk_ much at all?"

"Oh really…Emma would never…I mean…right, Emma?" Snow stared as the color rose in her daughter's face.

"Of course we talked! But he doesn't remember anything. Or…he's just starting to. Something happened at the town line and he has no memory of it."

"But he somehow knows he's the Dark One? And he can wield magic and wants to destroy the Savior. That's convenient memory loss," Regina remarked in a low voice as she sipped her coffee.

"He's getting his memories back," Emma replied slowly. "It's just taking time. He remembers the giant's castle and…some other things..." she trailed off weakly, _really_ not wanting to explain that last part.

David waved the point aside. "It doesn't matter what he remembers. We need to find the dagger and fast. It's the only way we can control him. Do you have any idea of where it could be?"

Emma shook her head.

He turned to Regina, "Is there any way we could find it? Some kind of locator spell?"

Regina smirked. "Well, Emma has the inside track here. Perhaps she could…_talk_…to him again, and find out where he's keeping it."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I'm sure he wouldn't tell me where it is. And besides, it doesn't matter. He's won't hurt anyone again. He's not like that."

"Oh yes, I forgot how warm and fuzzy he can be…what with being an evil pirate hell-bent on revenge...oh wait...that was _before_ he was the Dark One. Now he's an asshole with unlimited power." Regina retorted. "Lucky us."

Emma grimaced and folded her arms over her chest. She felt herself drawing inwardly, as if she could escape the conversation and stares by disappearing into the booth. "He's done hurting people. He told me so himself, and I believe him."

Snow put a hand on her shoulder. "We can't take that chance. He has Gold's powers now. The only way to make sure he can't hurt you again is to find the dagger."

"You know what? If you want the dagger…go find it yourself. We don't need to _control_ him. We need to _help_ him." Emma stood up and grabbed her jacket.

Regina nodded. "Because getting your boyfriend back is our top priority. Never mind the presence of a new Dark One or the disappearance of Gold or the distinct possibility we'll all be dead by sundown."

Without a word, Emma stalked out of the diner, ignoring the calls of her parents and the startled looks of the other customers. Instead of heading to her office, she found herself walking through the back door of the library and climbing the stairs to the clocktower two at a time.

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Emma could sense Killian's presence well before she saw him. He was sitting on his cot reading a dusty tome that was almost as big as the bed. Around him, the room had transformed—the walls were undulating purple clouds and the clock face had become a crescent moon glowing a soft silver hue. Starry flecks of light floated around them like fireflies. The specks were the color of warm candlelight and cast the room in a dappled light.

He tilted his head as he studied her through a veil of violet and amber. "Hello Lovely. You seem vexed."

"I am," she said quietly, studying the shimmering lights. "What is this?"

He held up the book. "It's a spell. A fairly basic one."

She ran her hands through glowing lights hovering above her. "What's it for?"

"Who the hell knows?" Killian tossed the book aside and climbed to his feet. "Those Elves were strange creatures. Useless tossers…they spent all their time making shiny things that glow. It's no wonder they're extinct. Score one for the Orcs."

"It _is_ pretty," she muttered, watching the dancing lights around her. "Wow."

He waved his hand and another flurry of lights rained down from the darkness above. "So why are you upset? Not because of something I did? I assure you that I've kept safely indoors, curbing my tendency towards mass destruction and riotous mayhem."

"I'm glad to hear it." She caught a drop of light in her palm. It hissed and died as soon as it touched her skin. "No, it's my parents. They think you're going to hurt us… hurt me."

"Given my behavior so far, that's a fair assumption."

"But you won't, right?"

"I don't intend to… But that's not what's worrying you, is it?"

She shook her head. Waving her hands, she parted the flecks of light as she approached him.

He watched her through the glow. "Do you think your parents are going to try something drastic? Take some action against me? Perhaps get that attractive Mayor to hurl fireballs at my head again?"

"I wouldn't rule it out. Hurling fireballs is how Regina handles most of her problems."

"I got that impression too."

She played with a speck of light in her hand, smiling as it danced over her fingertips. "Did you find anything at the docks?"

He stared at the ground, hesitating before answering. "Um…Not really. Nothing concrete"

She reached out to cup his face and forced him to look at her. "Tell me the truth. What did you find?"

"Nothing. I found nothing." He gave a slight smile. "But I started thinking…"

"About what?"

"About why I need my memories in the first place."

She stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" He took her hand and pulled her closer. His lips hovered over hers as he gave an inviting smile. "...Why should I bother with my memories at all? There's really no reason to go chasing after ghosts. And what's wrong with letting the past go and starting over again? There's nothing to say I can't have clean slate, is there?" He leaned in to brush his lips against hers but she put a hand on his chest and eased away.

"Killian…you need to remember what happened to you. Gold, the last Dark One, he might still out there. We need to know what he did to you."

"Why?"

"Why…?"

Killian shrugged. "He can't hurt me now. Wherever he is, he's obviously lost his magic and his title as the Dark One…so why should I concern myself with him? I have unlimited power, devastating good looks and an array of painful spells at my beck-and-call. Who cares about some toothless old wizard? I can handle him with or without my memories. I'm almost looking forward to it."

"But you need to remember who you are. You're Killian Jones…and Captain Hook...You're important."

"Can't be that important Lovely. I mean…look around." He gestured at the room. "I've got no wife, no children, no family. Nothing but a shabby little apartment in some backwater realm. I mean, really, who cares? If that's how I ended up, then I'm not sure I _want_ to remember the man I was. Maybe it's best if I just let him go." He eased her closer, gathering her in his arms.

"No!" she said suddenly, her voice echoing through the tower. Her white-blonde hair fanned out behind her as she shoved him away. For an instant she looked like a white bird about to take flight. She took a step back from him, her eyes angry and aglow as white energy crackled against her fingertips. "No, he needs to come back…don't say that. Don't ever say that again. He has to come back. You _have_ to remember who you are."

He met her gaze. "Why Swan? Because as much as you seem to like me, I can't recall one reason I need to bring him back. Not one single reason."

Her expression darkened. "You don't know what you're talking about. He was special… He was important."

"How?"

She shook her head. "You want reasons? Reason why he matters…?" The anger in her voice fell away as tears filled her eyes. "There are...lots of reasons..."

He gave a soft chuckle. "Really? At this point, I'd settle for one."

She swallowed hard, blinking back her tears. "He's important…because...because he's a survivor_…_and…and he's stubborn. And he thinks he's charming even when he's not, _especially_ when he's not. And even though I pushed him away a hundred times, he never gave up on me. He never gave up on _us_. And he always finds his way back to me. Always. And he's…" she trailed off as her voice caught in her throat.

"And he's what?"

She leveled her gaze at him. "He's mine."

"Did he make you happy?" Killian asked quietly.

She smiled sadly. "Sometimes. Usually he made me mad. But he…he was trying to make me happy. We were trying to be happy. Together."

He wiped away a tear as it fell down her cheek. "And he's the man you want?"

She nodded, looking at him steadily. "Yes."

"Right." He took out a vial from his pocket and stared at it. The violet liquid shimmered against the droplets of light. The potion swirled and hissed as he turned it over in his hands.

"What is that?"

"A potion."

"What's it for?"

"Nothing." He tucked it into his jacket pocket. "Doesn't matter. Don't think I'll be needing it anyhow." He studied her for a moment. He looked like he was turning something over in his mind.

"There is one thing I thought of…" he muttered as headed to the far corner of the room. A pile of sketches lay on the floor gathering dust. He knelt down and began leafing through them, tossing aside pages full of ships and swans.

"What's in the potion?" she asked, watching him turn the pages over and over.

"No idea," he replied quietly. "Knowing Grim, probably battery acid and cat piss. Doesn't matter anyway…Ah. Here we are." He found a picture and held it up to the dim yellow light of the clock face. It was a large sailboat set against a full moon. The dust had turned the sharp edges of the ocean a dingy grey. Waves like the tiny teeth on the serrated edge of a knife surrounded the hull. He gripped the parchment and stood up, studying it in the dim light of the window.

"Who's Grim? What are you doing?"

Ignoring her, he ran his hand over the page. The parchment hung heavily in his hand, the sharp waves stretched as the paper pulled and stretched away from him. He paused and closed his eyes. A moment passed. Then two. He shook the parchment, letting the paper flap like an unfurled flag. A flash of metal caught her eye and something heavy tumbled from the page to the ground. A dull thud echoed through the tower, and there at his feet lay the Dark One's dagger, glinting in the amber light.

"You hid the dagger in your drawing," she whispered, watching him picked it up. He gripped the handle and wordlessly turned to her, the silver blade catching the green light glowing in his eyes.

"Now this is certainly what I'd call a long shot," he said quietly as he strode towards her.

"Wait… Killian…what are you doing?" She watched him with wide eyes as he headed towards her. She saw the dagger's glowing edge cut through the air between them as he twirled the twisted blade in his hand.

"Here. Take it," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Take it." He held the handle towards her. "I have an idea, but I'll need your help, if you don't mind…"

She slowly reached out and took the dagger from him. The green glow faded from his eyes as he watched her. "You trust me with it?"

"I suppose I do..." Their eyes locked over the blade, and she saw his expression soften as he gave a shy smile. "Now I want you to command me to remember the man I was. Before I became the Dark One."

"You think that will work?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps. If I can't help but follow your orders, my memories will have to return, won't they? In any case, it can't hurt to try."

She studied the dagger in her hand. The name _Jones_ shimmered on the blade. Even though the metal glittered cheerfully, she knew it pulsed with an ancient and evil magic. She raised the dagger between them, studying it. Amazed that something so small had the capacity for so much power.

"What if it doesn't work?" she asked.

"Then I suppose we'll have to move on to plan B."

"Which is what?"

"I don't know. Maybe Regina can lob fireballs at my head until something comes back. Personally, I hope this does the trick."

She nodded and held up the dagger between them. The twisted metal glittered against the hovering lights overhead as streaks of violet and amber played across the blade.

"Dark One…" She noticed he grimaced at the title. "Killian Jones…" she corrected herself. "I command you to remember the man you once were."

She watched him, searching for any sign of recognition. "Did it work?"

He shook his head and gave a sad smile. "No, Lovely. Sorry to say I don't think it did…"

His voice died away as a blindingly-bright light exploded overhead. She shielded her face for a moment, feeling the hiss and heat of energy swirling around her. When she opened her eyes the room was empty. The floating lights around her faded, their shadows casting sharp shapes against the dusty floor. Emma heard her own heart beating heavily in her chest and felt a painful shiver of fear.

She was alone.

"Killian?" she whispered, looking around the dark empty room. "Killian?"

She took a breath and held up the dagger. "I summon you, Dark One…I summon you…come and face me." She stared helplessly at the shimmering light playing over the blade. Nothing. It wasn't working.

"Oh, please…please…this isn't funny…" she whispered. Her hands began to shake as she held up the dagger and closed her eyes. "Come back to me Killian. Come back to me."

Nothing. He wasn't there. Her eyes were wide as she stared into the darkness around her.

"Dammit Killian," Emma whispered to no one. "What the hell happened? Oh God…what did I do…?"


	10. Chapter 10: Grim Adventures

Chapter: Grim Adventures

Killian regains his memories and is faced with a difficult decision.

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Killian opened his eyes and peered into the darkness around him. Whispers hissed in his ears as the air became cold and sharp.

"Swan?" He called. Silence answered him. "Swan?"

For a moment everything was still. There was nothing but darkness in every direction. A vast endless darkness. Seconds ticked by and he slowly sensed a change taking place. A midnight sky came into focus above. Dark churning woods lay in the distance. A black road stretched out beneath him. Nearby, the town line crackled with bright violent energy, as if sending a warning. The _Welcome To Storybrooke_ sign glittered invitingly against the faint moonlight.

"What the hell am I doing here…?" His voice died in his throat as a slashing, searing pain tore through him.

Collapsing onto the black pavement, he lay helplessly as a warm pool of blood gathered beneath him, dark as dying roses, reflecting moonlight in its slowly spreading mire. The clouds overhead cleared, and for a moment the moon's rays turned red through a graying mist. Murmurs hissed in his ears. Raindrops pricked his forehead, as if trying to shake him from a stupor.

Suddenly a small hand took his, gripping it tightly.

"Belle…" The word choked in his throat.

"Hook?" Belle whispered, her pale face materializing out of the shadows. She was kneeling next to him, tears shining in her eyes. "I'm sorry…so sorry. I won't go. I'm here… I won't leave you." Her hand held his, and he watched as she brought his fingers to her lips, pressing a kiss to each of them. Her dress was stained with something deep and red. Streaks of blood, almost black in the starlight, covered her face and hands.

He could feel the gasping air leaving his lungs and the blood quickly draining from his body. Forgotten images swarmed around him, flooding his senses like a black tidal wave. A glinting dagger, Ingrid's scroll, his beating heart in Rumple's hand…

"It's all right," he tried to mutter even as the words stuck in his throat. His head rested against her hands, both small and pale and impossibly soft. "It's all right Belle, don't cry. It's not your fault…tell Emma I'm sorry…tell her…she deserves better…" Killian struggled to speak but his voice was drowned out by a chorus of whispers floating around him.

Staring at a silver sky, Killian realized he was dying. He saw the red touches of color on the treetops in the distance and the slowly moving clouds veiling the sharp points of starlight. He felt the droplets of sweat trickling down his forehead and the pain blossoming around gaping wounds in his chest. He was dying—this was the alpha and omega of his universe, as elementary as an alphabet. All at once, everything became clear. Everything was laid bare to him at the moment of his death; the man he was, the man he wanted to be, the man he would never become...

Suddenly he was being swept away, gathering speed as the scenery around him crumbled into black shapeless forms. He tried to call out, tried to fight the current hurling him into nowhere. His voice fell away, dissipating into a black river like droplets of water. His breath slowed and stopped as his throat tightened and he felt himself falling into a wide, welcoming abyss as the darkness swallowed him whole.

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"Wake-y Wake-y…Eggs and Cakey. Wake up now… Open those eyes. You've been resting long enough…Come on…Oh _do_ hurry the fuck up. I don't have all night you know…" the sing-song voice came to him slowly, echoing from a faraway place.

Killian groaned and gripped his chest. Air filled his gasping lungs and his heart began beating hard and painfully in his chest. His hands moved over his stomach, his shoulders, his throat, searching for gaping wounds. Nothing. There was nothing. No wounds. No slashes. No blood.

He was alive. He was breathing. He was awake.

"Bloody hell…" Killian muttered, his eyelids fluttering open. Blinking, he sat up and tried to peer into the pitch darkness. The moonlight overhead signaled the approach of midnight. He must've been unconscious for hours…

An icy breeze whirled around him as he climbed to his feet. An eastern wind howled and brought the scent of snow inland from the bay. Snow flurries fell on the empty road and dark storm clouds hung in the air, rumbling and black against the dark horizon. The air hissed with energy and the town line shimmered and hummed. Beside him, the town sign flashed a hard green glare.

"_Welcome to Storybrooke_," he read aloud. Underneath it, someone had scratched out the town motto and scrawled '_weird as shit'_ in its place. Killian thought he recognized Will Scarlet's handiwork. He hated to admit that it was a better town motto than '_if it ain't brooke, don't fix it_.'

"Finally…" a voice rang out from the darkest part of the shadows, "I was beginning to wonder if we'd be out here all night." A pair of glowing eyes appeared and a figure stepped forward from the darkness.

"Who's there?"

A laughing voice cut through the gloom. "Who else would it be? Surely after getting your oh-so-precious memories back, you must remember who _I_ am."

Killian rubbed his chest. A pain flared beneath his skin, as if a low fire were burning between the bones of his rib cage. "Grim? Is that you? What do you want?"

"Anything and everything." The Useless One bowed, an amused grin stretching across his decayed face. "More recently, I wanted you to take that potion. I worked so hard on it…and you would've saved me endless amounts of trouble if you'd been a good little Dark One and just taken the damn stuff."

"I'm in no mood for one of your Call to Darkness speeches," Killian said hoarsely, the pain in his heart now spreading up his shoulder. He'd never felt anything like it before… "So I'd appreciate it if you'd kindly fuck off."

Grim waved the request away. "My my my… that was clever of you, wasn't it? Getting the Savior to use the dagger and command you to remember who you were. I honestly didn't see that coming. Perhaps I've built better than I knew. I've spent weeks whispering through the chrysalis but had no idea what was going to emerge from the cocoon. I'm almost impressed."

Killian shook his head. "You make even _less_ sense now that my memories back. How is that possible?"

Grim ignored him and drew closer, his eyes glowing brightly against the darkening skies. "I'm actually lucky to have caught you here. This town line of ours has some interesting properties doesn't it? I haven't mastered this kind of communication yet, and it's presented a particular problem for me. You'd be surprised how many times I tried to contact you and wound up trapped in someone's meth-fueled nightmare... It's a self-destructive little realm, isn't it? Everybody wants to break-bad in one way or another."

Killian stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"_Breaking Bad_. It's a television show..."

"No, not that… What do you mean you haven't mastered this kind of communication? I thought you've been doing this for centuries…guiding the Dark Ones through their Call to Darkness and all the other poncy horseshit attached to the title. "

Grim leaned forward. His amused eyes glowed a fiery red. "I said a lot of things. It's actually a funny story... and you might enjoy this… but I've been lying. This entire time." He giggled. The sound grated on Killian's nerves like rusted metal.

"You've been lying?"

Grim nodded. "Yes. Most of the things I told you were lies. In fact, _everything_ has been a lie. Every. Single. Thing." He giggled again, this time the sound was suddenly eerily familiar.

A green fire burned on his fingertips as Killian's eyes narrowed. "Everything?"

"Yup."

"Perhaps you'd care to give me a reason for that."

"Oh, I think you know why. You have your memories back, after all. It shouldn't be too hard to figure out, even for you. Think hard." Grim chuckled darkly. "Really concentrate. As much as you can… I know it's hard with visions of attractive blondes running through that thick head of yours."

Killian stared at him, the pain in his chest pounding in time with his heartbeat. Another face flashed in front of him. One with sharp features, small beady eyes and a wicked grin that seemed to glow against the dark. "Because…we've…we've met before."

"Yes."

"Your name…" Killian stared at him. "Your name's not _Grim_, is it?"

"Nope. Although I've been called worse. Much worse. By you actually." Grim's fingers twirled through the air, as if he were spinning an invisible thread.

Killian watched the sharp points of his fingertips and suddenly felt droplets of sweat trickling down his forehead and waves of pain blossoming deep inside his chest. He saw a moonlit dagger, a bloody scroll, a ruby heart beating in Grim's hand…no…not Grim…it wasn't Grim…

"You're the Crocodile." The words fell from Killian's lips, dripping with venom.

From underneath his shadowy hood, Grim's decaying gray skin fell away and Rumple's face appeared in its place. "My, my, my… I'm impressed. My little ruse was going _soooo_ well…even if the costume was a bit Ghost-of-Christmas-Future for my taste. But it really wasn't all that terrible, considering everything was such short notice." Rumple stepped from the swirl of shadows, emerging in a neat three-piece suit with a wide smile on his face.

"You can't be serious…You evil son of bitch…" Killian stared at him, his eyes wide with shock. A blackened hatred flared in his heart, bubbling with the intensity of slick acid falling on hot metal. The scorching pain clawed at him and a shadowed bruise began to take shape over his chest as Rumple's shrunken heart grew several shades darker within him. "You tried to kill me," he said, his voice barely rising above a hoarse whisper.

Rumple shrugged. "Tried and failed. Although I'll be the first admit my attempts to rid myself of the dagger were…flawed. There were some unforeseen consequences. My actions caused me to lose my title as the Dark One, but because I retained the Sorcerer's hat and Ingrid's scroll, you'll find I'm not entirely helpless. How do you think I've been watching you, even contacting you from outside the realm? Appearing as an apparition isn't as easy as it looks…"

"You were Grim this whole time? That doesn't make any sense."

"No, of course it doesn't. At least, not to you… I know it takes awhile for new and exciting ideas to find their way into that saltwater-soaked brain of yours. Speaking of which, I'm sure Emma Swan will be quite pleased to be getting her old Killian Jones back again. How is Emma? Recovering from those nasty wounds you gave her?" Rumple grinned when he saw Killian's expression darken. "Now now now don't get so upset. After all, what's a few blondes between friends? _That_ little misadventure signaled the start of my new problems—I knew once you spared Swan's life, your memories would start returning. I'd hoped they wouldn't… but_ c'est la vie_…I had to find another way to ruin you."

"The potion," Killian said quietly. "Let me guess, it wasn't going to eliminate my memories, was it?"

"Oh no. It was poison. And quite nasty stuff too. You were _supposed_ to take it and die a painful death, but alas you had to ruin my fun again." He shook his head. "And it really was a chore creating it. Do you know what a thimbleful of Dreamshade goes for in the Troll Market? Took me weeks to find it. Oh, and then I had to find a way to deliver it to you. It's no easy feat, dropping a vial of potion over the town line. Believe it or not, _that_ was the hardest part of the process…"

"Wonderful plan Crocodile." Killian chuckled darkly, wincing as the pain continued to stab his chest. "You wanted me to trust you, take a few sips of a mysterious potion, and die quickly and quietly…that's very clever. So what'd you call this one? Evil Plan #304? Or Operation I'm-A-Sick-Fucking-Idiot?"

"I don't name my evil plans, thank you very much. I'm not five-years-old," Rumple said primly.

"Was leaving Belle behind part of your plotting, or did your wife not fit into the genius design of your grand scheme?"

"I didn't know she'd left the car!" Rumple exclaimed. "I'm evil, not heartless…and now I have proof of that." He thumped his chest. "Heart works like a dream, by the way. Should I thank you or Emma Swan for that?"

He forced a grin. "Enjoy it while it lasts. I plan on ripping it out of you at the earliest opportunity. Perhaps I'll use my hook, for old-time's sake."

"Oh, you'll have to catch me first. I'm small but I'm quick."

Killian rubbed his chest, gritting his teeth against the pain. "As much as I love bantering with you, _old friend_, why don't we cut the bullshit short and you just tell me what you want."

"What do I want?" Rumple twirled his hands in the air, spinning an invisible silken thread. "I want what I've always wanted. To kill you. To ruin you. To take away your happy ending and secure mine. It's fairly simple straightforward process, but I don't know why it's been so damned difficult. Pain in the ass you are, you really shouldn't be so hard to kill… And you can't imagine how much I want to kill you. I dream about it…" He paused, a smile lighting up his face. "I'd like so much to poison you. Or stab in you through the heart. Or set you on fire. Or tie you to a cannon and drop you in the middle of the ocean or set a kraken loose on you or cut out your tongue and feed it to you so you'd choke on your own blood…"

Rumple laughed self-consciously and sighed. "But perhaps it's for the best. It'll be much more fun watching you destroy _yourself_ from a distance. How long do you think your little dalliance with Emma will last now? I mean, the Savior and the Dark One have such an insurmountable obstacle in their path for true love. I'll say it'll be two, maybe three months before she banishes you from the realm or slips you a little Dreamshade herself… Care to wager on it?"

"Go to hell," Killian snarled, the flames on his hands burning black now. "I'll never hurt Emma. I'll die before I do."

"Perhaps you would _before_. But not anymore." Rumple gave an evil grin. "The change has started already. Can't you feel it? That tearing sensation that's ripping your chest in half? That's your heart…or…_my_ heart actually, and it's growing darker as your memories return."

"You're lying," Killian replied in a low voice, rubbing his hand over his the shadowed bruise spreading over his heart.

"I imagine it's grown several shades darker even in the last few minutes. All those centuries of hatred and vengeance just coursing through your veins… And it still has quite a ways to go. Feels like a hot poker to the rib cage, doesn't it? It's not a very pleasant feeling. I remember after some particularly nasty spells, how much it'd ache and burn... I'd drink gallons of milk, sit in ice water, chew on handfuls of gingerroot, but there's nothing for it." He grimaced. "And soon the darkness within it will take over. It won't be long before your ragged little heart won't have a glimmer of love or goodness left in it."

"You're wrong." Killian snarled. "I may have your heart, but I know who I am. I'm not a monster. I'm nothing like you."

"Ohhhhh, I wouldn't say that. Certain souls have teeth. And yours are starting to show."

"Shut up. Shut your fucking mouth."

Rumple giggled. "And poor Emma. She will be disappointed, won't she? She finally gets her Killian Jones back, only to watch his love twist into something evil and hateful. Because that, _old friend_, is the price of your magic and the cost of your power… The Dark One will always destroy the one he loves. Always. And there's nothing you can do about it." Rumple shrugged. "Seems I might have lost my power, but you've lost your happy ending. I'm not sure if it's a fair trade yet. Ask me in a few months."

Killian didn't answer him. Instead he stared at the fire glowing on his fingertips. It matched the deep dark burning he felt in his chest.

Grim sighed. "I wish I didn't hate you with such a vile loathing, because you're going to be a magnificent Dark One. I'm honestly excited to see how you'll destroy the Savior. Should be one hell've a show, and I'll be watching eagerly to see how it plays out. From a distance, that is…But don't despair, I'll leave you with this promise—before you die, you will see my face. So keep a weather eye on the horizon, _Dearie_." Rumple gave a fluttering bow before he disappeared in a cloud of red smoke.

Killian stared at the empty space where Rumple stood, biting back the bitter rage welling up inside him. The shadowed bruise spread over his skin—swelling and blistering as a three-hundred-year-old hatred coursed through his veins. Flames licked his fingertips, burning black as the heart beating inside him.

He rubbed his chest absently, looking down the stretch of road just beyond the town line. The ragged pain was now sharp and insistent. He could imagine a jewel forming itself inside his body. He knew what was beating inside him, what was pumping the black blood through his veins wasn't his heart. It was something harder, cold and clean, a shard of something sharp and glinting—a heart of stone that would lead him further and further away from any hope of the man he wanted to be...the man Emma deserved...

It was only a matter of time before _he'd_ be the Crocodile, preying on the weak, bending desperate souls to his will. Soon he'd claw his way into the black arts until he was a shadow of himself, his mind painting colors on the dark while vicious plans ran through his head like golden threads. The flickers of humanity he'd fought so desperately to preserve would turn cold and die out, like smoking embers covered by spent ash.

Eventually he'd stare so long into the darkness that the Darkness would begin to stare back...

Killian continued to watch the town line. It was only a few feet away…a few steps forward and he could cross it. Then this insanity would end. With a few steps, he could kill the beast. Stop the monster. Put an end to the dark magic encasing itself round his heart like a steel trap. Only a few steps, and he could spare Emma the misery his love would inevitably bring.

Dark flames danced over his fingertips, but the light couldn't reach him, he had drawn too deeply into the shadows around him.

He stepped forward. The invisible barrier crackled and hummed, issuing sharp sparks of warning as he approached.

"I'm sorry Emma," he murmured as he eased towards the barrier. Running his hand along the spindly energy of the line, he traced the faint light with his fingertips. It brushed against them as softly as spiderwebs. He tried to press forward, stepping towards the edge of the town line.

He couldn't move. He pressed harder, fighting against an unseen force. It was useless. The town line wouldn't let him pass.

"What the hell?" he muttered, taking a step back. "Why can't I cross it?"

"Because I don't want you to."

He turned slowly, his eyes hard and his shoulders squared, ready for a fight.

Emma stood behind him, gripping the dagger in her shaking hand. Her stare burned with a low flame as she watched him through the faint flashes of lightning. "We need to talk."


	11. Chap11: Sunlight And The Shadow It Casts

Chapter 11: Inseparable As Sunlight And The Shadow It Casts

Warning: Rating change to MA for NC-17 content and whatnot.

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"…Because I don't want you to." Her stare burned with a low flame as she watched him through sudden flashes of lightning. Behind them, arctic winds rattled the town line's invisible barrier, cutting across its humming energy and leaving silver sparks in its wake.

Killian leveled his gaze at her. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough." Emma's words echoed through the silence around them.

He watched her a moment and then shifted his eyes to the road. They were standing the center of the bloodstain. It spread out underneath them in a red circle as wide as the clock face glowing in the distance.

"I don't know about you Lovely," he said slowly. "But I could use a drink or two. Or ten..." He opened his hand and a swirl of shadows produced a battered flask. Taking a few sips, he offered it to her with a dark smile.

Emma reached for it, never taking her eyes off him. She secretly loved the taste of cold metal and warm rum, but tonight it brought little comfort. As they shared the flask in silence, she realized how dark it was. The starlight was veiled by the storm clouds rumbling overhead. Even the moonlight hid low in the hillsides, as if afraid of what it might reveal.

"Killian," she said quietly, trying to make out his features in the darkness. "Talk to me… What are you doing? Why are you trying to cross the town line?"

He sipped the rum slowly before tucking the flask back in his jacket. "Seemed like the smart thing to do."

"If you leave, you can never come back."

"That was the idea."

She stared at him with wide, hurt eyes. "But that's insane! You don't have to go...we can help you. David, Regina and Snow…everyone will help you. Everyone _wants_ to help you."

He shook his head and turned away from her to face the town line. The energy flickered around him as he stared at the dark expanse of the road. His eyes narrowed as they traced the horizon. "It's a nice thought Lovely, but I think I'm past the point of help."

"No, don't say that." She approached him slowly, the dagger still in her hand. She was feeling dizzy from the alcohol as she stood behind him. With a sigh, she wrapped an arm around his waist, resting her head against the back of his shoulder. She closed her eyes and breathed in his clover scent, felt the taut muscles of his chest through his shirt. She pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck, her lips lingering over the soft skin she found there. Her body began to respond to his closeness, a familiar ache rose within her, craving his touch.

"You're not going anywhere. We're together now, and nothing's going to change that," she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. "I promise you, you're not alone in this. Whatever else happens, we'll be together." She felt him turn around, felt his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. Her lips parted, waiting for the kiss…but nothing happened.

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. His eyes were hard and glinting against the lightning overhead. Thunder clapped around them and dark rain began to fall in heavy drops, turning to ice as soon as they hit the road.

"Emma, I have to leave."

"What do you mean?" She stepped back as if she'd been shoved. "You want to go? Why?"

"It's for the best."

"No it's not…don't say that." She shook her head angrily. "You're not going anywhere. I have the dagger, remember?"

"The dagger won't matter once I cross the town line."

"You're not going to cross the town line because I won't let you!"

"You won't let me?" He watched her, his jaw tightening and his shoulders squared for a fight. He took a few steps towards her, easing closer until the dagger pressed against his chest. He held her eyes, a dark expression on his face. He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. "You can't keep me here Emma. We both know you can't. You might have the dagger now, but it's only a matter of time before I get it back. And who knows what I might do then…maybe I won't have a mind to leave. Maybe I'll be quite content to stay here and see what kind of trouble I can cause. Maybe I'll want to see how much I can make you suffer. Maybe I'll enjoy it." His lips hovered over hers for a moment. "Can you really take that chance?"

She stared at him steadily, her eyes never leaving his. "That won't happen. You're not like him...You're nothing like Gold."

"You're right. I'm not like Gold." He leveled his gaze at her, his green eyes glowing. "I'll be _worse_. Much worse. I'm turning into a monster he could never be…I can feel it… Something's changing. In here." He placed her hand over his chest. "My heart's growing dark. Very dark, Lovely. And soon there won't be anything left of the man I was."

"That's not true," she said angrily, snatching her hand away. "Stop it. Stop it right now. I know what you're doing...I know what you're about to say…please don't say it."

"I'm the Dark One now and I'm only going to hurt you."

"Stop it." She shook her head, fighting back the tears. "You don't get to push me away. I'm not going to let you. You never once let me put up walls between us, even when it was the only thing I wanted to do…"

"Things change Emma," he said coldly.

"Fuck you."

"Let me go Emma."

"No!"

"You know it's the right thing to do..."

"Stop it!" Her eyes began to shimmer with tears. She raised the dagger between them, tracing Rumple's heart as it beat in his chest. "You really want to leave… How can you do that?" She blinked against the lightning flashing overhead. "How can you leave me?"

"Please Emma." He felt the pressure of the blade against his chest as he leaned towards her. "Please Lovely, don't cry…It's for the best."

"Stop saying that. You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know what I went through before, when I thought you were gone…when I thought Gold hurt you…" her voice gave out before she could finish.

His eyes softened as tears began to pour down her cheeks. His hand slowly moved to cup her face. He was standing so close that the dagger was now digging small teethmarks in his jacket. "Please don't do this. I have to leave. It's the only way to keep you safe. I have to keep you safe because I…because I…"

"What? Tell me," she demanded.

"Because I love you." He said it quietly, the words almost lost in the wind. "I've always loved you, Emma."

"You…what?" she replied, the words echoing in a hollow voice. The air around them crackled with white energy as the town line hissed and flickered around them.

He traced her face tenderly with his fingertip, his expression softening as he rested his forehead against hers. "There are no happy endings here, Lovely. Not anymore. You have to know that. Let me go."

She shook her head, her tears dripping onto the glowing blade of the dagger.

His eyes pleaded with hers. "The Dark One will always be a danger to those he loves. Look at Belle. After everything they went through, after the Crocodile finally won her heart... They had their happy ending all mapped out and he still damaged her beyond repair. I'm not going to put you through that. I can't do that to you. And if I'm gone, at least you have a chance."

"A chance for what? I don't understand…"

"A chance for your happy ending." He swallowed hard, tears welling in his eyes. "If I leave, you can find someone. Someone who'll give you the fairytale you deserve. You're a princess, and a Savior, and you deserve nothing less. And now… now all I can do is give you your best chance."

She stared at him as he ran his hand over her cheek, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip.

"Let me go Emma. Let me leave."

"No."

"It's your best chance…"

"No."

"…it's your only chance…"

"Don't ask me again," she whispered, closing her eyes.

A minute passed. Maybe two. Green and white flickers of energy encircled them, crackling against the raindrops pouring overhead. The skies opened up as a black wall of rain fell around them. The wind howled and raindrop hit on the road around them with violent stabs. Streaks of lightning filled the sky with a blinding-white light.

She cupped his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I'm not letting you leave.

"Emma…"

"…Because I choose you. I choose this. I choose us. It's our own fucked-up little fairytale and I don't want anything else."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I can never give you your happy ending. No matter how much I want to."

"If it means losing you, I don't want a happy ending," she whispered, folding her arms around him. He was soaked with rainwater and she shivered as his arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her against him. "I love you too," she said softly, brushing her lips against his. "I'm not losing you again. Dark or not, your heart is mine. I'm not letting it go."

Her eyes drifted shut as he dotted her face with kisses. She felt a warmth settling in her stomach as his lips found her throat. She sighed as he gathered her to him, his lips leaving a fiery trail along the sensitive skin of her neck. She gripped his collar, bringing him impossibly closer. A shudder worked its way up her spine and she felt her body melting against his, her lips roaming, her hands buried in the spiky mess of his wet hair.

She sensed a change as a swirling wind swept over them and the raindrops stopped falling around them.

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They were suddenly back in his apartment. The room was lit only by the green lights from the harbor and the moonlight off the bay. The starlight was hidden by a coming storm, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

Killian took a step back, the space between them seemed impossibly wide given the size of the small apartment. He was standing in front of the window, outlined by the lightning erupting outside. His eyes met hers across the darkness. A flash of light caught their emerald color even as he stood within the shadows.

"Emma, I'd better go…" he said, his voice strained.

"You're not leaving," she said softly, taking a step towards him. "And I have the dagger, remember? You have to do what I say," she whispered. "No questions asked."

His eyes met hers. "Something tells me I'm going to enjoy that."

Without a word, she dropped the dagger and grabbed his shirt, tugging him to her, kissing him fiercely, possessively. Her lips opened under his and she felt the warmth of his ragged breath even as hers caught in her throat. He dipped his tongue roughly against hers, and she responded in kind, stoking and stroking as he lifted her to him.

They moved backwards and fell against the bed. She found herself sliding onto his lap, straddling him, kissing him hard and deep. She nipped at the soft skin of his neck, her teeth raking the sensitive flesh as he held her against him. She could feel his hands running over her back, down to her hips and over her thighs. His hips began to move against hers and she groaned as a warm wetness spread between her legs and felt his growing arousal pressing against her inner thigh.

"Emma, are you sure you want…" his low voice was almost drowned out by the raging storm outside.

She nodded, unable to catch her breath as she rose and fell against him, seeking friction, seeking release. Her hand drifted between them and she traced his hardness through the rough denim of his pants. His eyes closed and he gasped against her, his hands gripping the small of her back as he ground his hips into hers, both of them moving in an unconscious rhythm.

He began to kiss his way along her throat. Her chest rose and fell, her breath shaky and slow. She moaned as his lips tripped along the top of her shirt and over the slight swell of her breasts straining against the thin material.

With a gentle motion, she shifted slightly, her hands coming to rest on his chest, her hair tumbled down her shoulders, catching the moonlight against the bay.

Killian's hands stilled as he watched her with a smile. "You're stunning," he said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you have any idea of how beautiful you are?"

She wanted to shake her head and give him a list of reasons why she was neither beautiful nor stunning nor particularly attractive. But with the way he was looking at her, all she could do was shake her head in a bashful 'no.'

"You're a stunning creature Emma Swan," he repeated, as the color rushed to her face.

She whispered a shaky 'thank you' against his ear just before her hand came between them and began undoing his shirt. Following her lead, his fingers found the buttons on her collar and deftly opened them in a single movement. She arched her back as he kissed his way down to the swell of her breasts. She continued to struggle with the buttons on his shirt, impatient and shaking as heat began to build up between them, his lips teasing her, his hands gripping her thighs, her hips moving roughly against his. They tugged at each other's clothes with increasing urgency, undressing each other in an unspoken hurry as the air around them crackled with white flickers of energy, building in heat and intensity.

Her hands fumbled with his belt buckle as he slipped her shirt over her shoulders. She was desperate to feel him. Her body craved it, and her hands shook as she tried to undress him. In the darkness they clumsily shed their few garments until suddenly she was on top of him, her lips against his, her breasts against the hard planes of his chest, her flesh against his flesh. She felt his hardness brush against her inner thigh, her warm wetness coating it as they moved against each other.

"Emma," he managed to gasp, a question on his lips.

She nodded, giving an unspoken permission.

She threw her head back as she felt him press himself inside her, filling her up as he buried himself to the hilt. They paused for a moment; the feeling of him inside her, stretching her, created exquisite sensations that left her gasping. A few seconds passed before she began rocking back and forth, her fingernails raking along his chest, trying to establish a rhythm but failing as sparks of pleasure scorched through her. She bit her lip, trying to keep from crying out as she rose and fell over him.

Their bodies moved together as he brought her closer and closer to release. Her hands gripped the sheets around them and she began to shiver uncontrollably. A swell of pleasure made her buck and tremble. Shockwaves shuttered through her, slowly at first, and then building to painful crests. She fell forward onto his chest as her body finally slipped away and waves of release lapped over her before she lost herself to warm and welcoming darkness.

Opening her eyes, the world came slowly back into focus—the slight sheen of sweat from their lovemaking on her forehead, his hand tracing patterns on her lower back, his mouth teasing the soft curve of her neck...

The storm outside had stilled. She could hear only the occasional raindrop against the windows and the sound of his breathing

"You'd better be here when I wake up," she whispered, tracing the dark bruise around his heart with her fingertips and watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. "No more disappearing."

"As you wish," he replied, drawing her close as she fell into a deep sleep.

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	12. Epilogue: Darkness at the Edge of Town

Epilogue: The Darkness At The Edge of Town

Two months later…

(Thanks for reading-it was fun writing for the Captain Swan ship. I enjoyed it)

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In the past, dark curses and primal spells worked their will over Storybrooke, gleefully wreaking havoc on the lives of the townsfolk. A tapestry of magic has unraveled countless times over this small seaside town, and to this day a force as wild and ancient as any spell hums through the streets. It's an invisible current that stirs and shifts with every passing second, alternating between the light and the dark.

Because in this town, two citizens embody both—One has the ability to harness the darker forces at will, the other wields a light magic so powerful that the air around her sings with its potential.

Tonight, as many nights, the two met underneath the amber glow of streetlamps. They were constantly, inexplicably drawn to each other, inseparable as sunlight and the shadow it casts.

In what was becoming a nightly ritual, the man pulled up in his motorcycle, and revved engine twice, waiting for the girl to come to her window. He had sharply handsome features, short black hair and gleaming green eyes. The girl stood in the window, her blonde hair curling over her shoulders, her dark eyes laughing as she threw open the shutters and waved.

Like some modern Romeo courting his Juliet, he motioned for her to come down to him. She tried to shout something, but he couldn't hear her over the newly-repaired engine. Less than a minute later, she was bounding out the front door and jumping on the back of the bike. He could feel her arms around his leather jacket and smell the lavender perfume that trailed behind her.

He shouted an unnecessary "hold on." She'd been on the back of his bike enough to know how to handle herself.

"Where are we going?" she called joyfully, fastening her helmet.

"You'll see."

He felt her lips plant a quick kiss to the back of his neck as they roared away. The town's lights flew by and faded as they careened along the road at breakneck speeds. Her hands pressed into his chest, and her body warming him as they leaned into the turns together. Over the hills and around the sharp turns, towering trees overhead shook with the crisp night breeze. They kicked up piles of leaves as they headed further into the countryside on a road as dark and winding as a black river.

The streets led them out of town and eventually to an open stretch of ancient highway. He felt her shift slightly against him and knew she was looking at the stars; it's what she loved to do, especially on the night like this when there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

The moon shone brightly over the ocean, and its light illuminating the empty coastal highway. They had nothing but steep turns and unexpected twists up ahead, as though the road itself was unwilling to go deeper into the rocky hills. Half the countryside was alive with the undulating motion of the seashore, the other half was a silent landscape covered with dark forests and black hills. Separating these, a strip of coastal highway wound its way into nowhere, and here the bike roared, a blur amongst the gathering shadows.

He gripped the motorcycle's vintage handlebar, his knuckles turning white as they raced along the coast. The fogged swirled and churned in the amber glow from the headlights. He could smell the ocean, and from time to time he caught a glimpse of silver tipped of waves in the distance. The air was colder here. He could sense the drop in temperature as they followed the winding road higher and higher.

With his hand over the throttle, he drove swiftly over the hillsides. Now alone on the road, there nothing anywhere except a shower of stars above and the sound of crashing waves below. They might as well have been the last people in the realm. Or the of it. The darkness. The chill. The solitude of this craggy, unfamiliar wilderness. It braced him. Emboldened him. For a few minutes he was free of it all, the dark curse winding its way around his heart, the whispers that hissed from shadowed parts of his mind, the ancient power emanating from an evil wellspring…

After several minutes they skidded to a stop on a lonely hillside.

As the motor quit, he heard her chuckle: "You've gotten quite a bit braver, haven't you?" she asked, lifting the helmet from her head. Blonde curls tumbled over her shoulders. She shook them out, running her hand through the feathery strands that turned white against the moonlight.

Killian twisted around in his seat until he was facing her. "Too fast for you?"

"Never." Emma leaned forward to brush her lips against his. She rested her forehead against his, smiling as she felt his arms wrap around her waist.

"You're not getting cold are you?"

She shook her head. "Nope."

"How do you like the view?"

"It's perfect." She looked around, taking in the scenery. They had paused on a stretch of highway that offered a stunning view of the ocean. The moon cast an angelic light on everything. Even the ragged cliffs appeared starlit and gleaming, matching the cresting waves with their glittering granite. The coastline, which she had always thought gloomy and spansive, was smooth as cut glass with starlight shimmering in the hollow of waves.

She took a thermos out of her backpack and poured them some hot chocolate. Killian spiked it with bourbon from his flask and they settled against each other, watching the moonlight shimmer against the waves stretching over the horizon.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a subtle change in Killian's features—his smile faded, his eyes narrowed and began to glowing green against the starlight. She recognized the look. Some dark thought got ahold of him, some secret whispering had him entranced…

"What is it?" she asked.

"The Crocodile. He's getting closer...I can feel him..." Killian replied gravely.

"We can handle Gold."

"Of course we can, Lovely," he said, his voice sounding distant and hollow. He pressed a hand to his heart, grimacing as a sharp pain reminded him of the darkness taking root there.

Without a word, she gripped his collar and brought him to her, her lips catching his for a long, lingering kiss. The darkness that threatened his heart was still present, but for now she could will him back from its thrall. They had yet to find a way to break the dark curse wrapping itself around his heart like black ivy, but she knew it was only a matter of time before it could be found. She would never lose hope. And never lose him.

She felt a sense of relief as his arms tightened against her. He grinned against her and deepened the kiss, his tongue stoking hers, an electric trill sending shivers through her as her breath caught in her throat.

She could taste the bourbon and the dry night air on his lips, an added spice she found irresistible. Soon he was gathering her pliant body to his, their hands began to wander, their mouths lazily exploring each others as she straddled his lap. It was exciting kissing him like this after a ride. It was exciting kissing him period.

"Mmmm…Killian. Can I ask you a question?" she muttered as she eased away. She rested her forehead against his as he kissed a trail down her throat. Green flames mingled with white sparks as they held hands, their fingers intertwining out of habit.

"Yes Lovely?"

"What are we doing way out here?"

He smiled as he stared at her. "I thought it was obvious."

She grinned. "Oh, so you brought me out here to take advantage of me?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Now hold still. I can't take advantage of you when you're talking."

She laughed, shifting impossibly closer. She sipped the hot chocolate and rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the feel of him against her.

"Actually Lovely..." Killian traced her face with his fingertip, raising her dark eyes to his. "I do have a surprise for you."

"So that's why you brought me out here. It was all part of an evil plan...I should have expected no less from the Dark One."

"Sorry to say, but I have many many nefarious plots, the likes of which the Savior could never conceive."

"Do they all involve hot chocolate and motorcycle rides?"

He thought a moment, reaching into his jacket. "Actually yes, a good portion of them do…" He pulled out a bundle of cloth. Unwrapping carefully, he handed it to her.

"Thought you might like it," he muttered, watching her as she studied it.

It was a strange glass orb that fit in the palm of her hand. Inside, silver flecks of crystal had settled against the surface, creating a countless series of spirals that glittered against the moonlight.

"What is it?"

"Apparently it's what happens when lightning strikes sand." He chuckled. "I was aiming for Regina's head and I missed. I found that when the dust cleared."

Emma rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. Lately Killian had busied himself trying to harness and control his newfound powers. His abilities were limitless, and he found himself buried in his studies, often working with Regina to understand how to best employ his talents. The two argued constantly, but a grudging respect was eventually forged amidst the bickering and insults.

"Thank you. I love it." She tucked it in her pocket and wrapped her arms around him. Dark One or not, it was nice to know he wasn't above bringing her pretty little presents or planning date nights. _Vengeful_ _Pirate, Dark One, Evil Villain…and the perfect boyfriend. Who knew? _She thought with a smile.

An icy wind picked up and she shivered against him.

"Ready to head back?" he asked, already turning around in his seat. She nodded, anticipating a quiet night curled up by a fireplace, drinking warm brandy, falling asleep in each other's arms…

She smiled as they roared back towards town. She couldn't imagine a better way to end the day.

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Across the town line, a dark force gathers. Its presence is registered in a series of pulsing beats, soft as a heartbeat, strong as waves battering the shoreline. A force as ancient as any spell still swirls around the town line—its invisible current hums through the streets with every passing second. It alternates between two central sources…great darkness or great light. They both arise from the same wellspring, the same magical source. And right now, that source was in flux. Something is churning against the invisible current. A change is coming, the air is thick with it.

Three figures hover near the town line, testing its strength, registering its strengths and weaknesses, drawing in the knowledge the way the ocean draws in the tide.

They crouch low against the invisible barrier, letting the shadows conceal them. Deep, hissing whispers echo around them as they speak in low voices. A woman wearing a heavy fur coat can smell the blood of the Dark One just on the other side. It's a tantalizing scent, a golden tendril guiding her to her final victory. The woman next to her has waves of black hair and large wounded eyes. She keeps to the darkest part of the shadows as she paces along the vast fissures of an endless abyss. Her goal is so close, she can almost reach for it with one of her eight undulating arms.

The third figure straightens his suit and adjusts his scarf. Ingrid's scroll is tucked safely in his jacket, along with the Sorcerer's hat and his wedding ring. For centuries he's stalked the wavering line between waking and dreaming and now he finds himself pacing Storybrooke's horizon, searching for his happy ending. He takes a deep breath as triumphant glean shines in the red pupils of his eyes. Any day now the town line will be weak enough to cross, and the pull of his desire will lead him onward like a current in a black river of blood.

Soon the hunt will be on. The three villains will get what they came for. Their hunger will be sated, and the realm will be lost to absolute darkness.

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The End (for now)

Sequel Coming soon: "Heart of Glass"


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